


To My Knees You Do Promote Me

by Rhanon_Brodie



Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Anilingus, BDSM, Belts, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Choking, Cock Rings, Dirty Talk, Dominant Alex, Everything subject to change, Gambling, Kinks, Kitchen blow jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Nude Photos, Phone Sex, Playful Torture, Poker, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Spanking, Strip Poker, Threesome - M/M/M, Tumblr Prompt, alex is a switch, but i'm strangely comfortable with that, but it did, candle wax, cookane, depending on your POV, dirty talking miles, down the rabbit hole we go, filming of said guided masturbation, guided masturbation, i didn't think it was gonna go this way, i'm not even sorry, jamie is a top, mention of cock rings, mention of frottage, miles is a switch, miles is his bottom, non conventional relationships, or up it, possibly jamilex in the future, probably jamex at this point, public handjobs, questionable menu choices, rim jobs, rough gay sex, runs and hides, sex toys!, slight cock and ball torture, slight reference to jamex, submissive Miles, that's a thing now, this could get out of hand, this is going so deep, tongue-and-butt-stuff, waxing poetic, woreish alex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-03-22 14:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 42,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3732739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhanon_Brodie/pseuds/Rhanon_Brodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex has a kink or two, Miles has some more.  Here's what happens when they make a list and end up behind closed doors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.
> 
> So here's Dom!Alex and sub!Miles...it's been floating around in my head for a while, and a prompt on tumblr made it happen. I don't know as though I'm quite finished with this one, so I'm leaving it open ended. After all, they both made lists...
> 
> Unbeta'd, no pre reader, I just wrote it, tweaked it, and here it is.

“Now, Miles. The last fing I wanna do is ‘urt you.”

Miles swallowed thickly, and his lashes fluttered. The heat in Alex’s word matched that of his touch, clever fingers clawing up Miles’ bare thigh, before jumping to the other, skipping the aching cock that rose between them. “But it’s still on the list,” Miles rasped, as his fingers clenched despite the bonds on his wrist.

“Hm. Aye, t’is,” Alex agreed. “Shall we carry on?”

Eyes still closed, Miles nodded, his thoughts swimming in a thick, burning sea of arousal and anticipation. He felt the air shift next to him, and Alex’s hand popped against his cheek, hard enough to make Miles gasp, and bring tears to his eyes. His cock throbbed, and he blushed as felt another trickle of clear fluid slip down his shaft.

Miles couldn’t see it, but Alex smirked. With another quick move, Alex snared a handful of Miles’ hair, yanking the younger lad’s head to attention. “I can’t hear your head nod, lad,” Alex warned shaprly. “I’ll ask again: shall we carry on?”

Miles’ lips parted, and his hips bucked madly as he tried to find some modicum of relief. When he got nothing save for another dark trickle of laughter from Alex, Miles tightened his eyes at the sting of pleasure that wrapped around his body as a result of the sound. “Yes,” Miles panted, sweat rolling down his spine. 

“Open your eyes when you talk to me,” Alex murmured, fingers still twisting in the dark, feathered locks of Miles’ hair.

He obeyed, bright hazel flashing in the dim light of the room. “Please, Sir,” he begged, caught in Alex’s blackened gaze. “I want more.”

*****************

 _Five days earlier_ …

“A _what_?” Alex asked, cocking an eyebrow at Miles, who was seated across from him with a rather clever grin.

“A list. Of things. Things that we want to do. You _know_. In the bedroom.”

Alex blinked and tucked his fingers into the hair at the back of his head, scratching as he pondered the request. “Wot...like...like, ‘hot oil massage, whips an’ chains, spankings?”

Miles sat straighter, his smile growing. “Yes,” he nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly like that.”

Alex shifted on the chair and drew his hand from his hair, tucking his thumbnail between his teeth. “Do we _need_ a list? I thought fings like tha’ were only if...if fings were gettin’ boring, like.” He sobered and looked Miles dead in the eye. “M’not boring you, am I?” He asked thickly, his face stricken with doubt.

“No!” Miles chuckled, reaching to take Alex’s hand. “God, no, love, you’ve nuffin’ to worry ‘bout. I just thought tha’ it might be interestin’. I mean...I know you got kinks.”

“Do not,” Alex huffed, looking away.

“You’re the one who immediately mentioned whips an’ chains an’ spankins’,” Miles pointed out.

“Don’t mean owt,” Alex defended hotly.

“Mm hm,” the Scouser replied. “Look, we’d both be makin’ lists. An’ it’s not like we hafta do _everythin_ ’ we list, yeah? I mean...we probably will, given our track record. C’mon, where’s the harm?”

Alex chewed his bottom lip for a moment and considered Miles’ request once more. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to share things with Miles, it was just that...well, sometimes even his own... _cravings_ tended to make him question himself. Did he really like all those things? Would Miles laugh? Would Miles freak out?

“Al,” Miles sighed. “Love, it’s me. I love you, have from the moment I met you, you know that. I trust you, and I hope you trust me. I know it’s not easy for you.” The Liverpudlian sat back and leveled his steady gaze on Alex. “We don’t hafta make a list,” he concluded. “It were just an idea. Nothing more.”

“All right,” Alex agreed almost before Miles had finished reneging.

“Yeah?” Miles lit up once more.

“Yeah,” Alex shrugged. “But so help me Kane, if you laugh…”

“I won’t, Alex. Promise.”

************************

“Number three,” Alex finally decided, handing the list back to Miles.

Grasping the paper, Miles scanned it to jog his memory. It wasn’t like he had that many on his list (okay, so he had like eight things where as Alex had maybe four), but he wanted to make sure he knew what Alex was talking about.

His eyebrow went up. “Yeah? Number three?”

Alex nodded silently, his gaze steady, daring Miles to back down.

And Miles loved a challenge, so there was no chance in hell that was happening. He glanced down to Alex’s list, and noticed that Alex’s _number two_ went very nicely with Miles’ _number three_. “All right. You’re on. But we should set limits.”

Alex nodded once more. “Agreed.” He waited for Miles to continue.

“No drawing blood intentionally,” Miles decided.

Alex made a face. “What? No. God no. What the fuck, Miles.” He waited for Miles to add to the limits, but when Miles merely smiled placidly, Alex blinked and cocked his head. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” Miles shrugged.

“So like...if I were to say...I dunno...tie your hands togever...an’...maybe...choke you until you see stars, you’d be all right wiv that?”

Miles’ cheeks blushed faintly, and he picked up Alex’s list, turning the jagged, yet contained printing towards Alex. “We’re doing your number two at the same time.”

Alex sucked in a breath. “Yeah?” he murmured.

Miles nodded. “Oh, yes.”

************************

_**Number two: There’s venom in my veins, and sometimes it doesn’t work its way out. Be my outlet. Let me have full control. Submit. That’s all I really want.**_

_**Number three: Take the reins. Make it hurt. Make me cry. Make me yours.**_

*************************

“Stop fookin’ movin’.”

Bent over the couch, Miles froze almost instantly at Alex’s command. Vulnerable as he was, jeans unfastened and pushed down his thighs as well as his briefs, Miles began to wonder if perhaps he’d been a mite too hasty to agree with Alex’s choice of number three.

“You’ve been a right tease all night, Miles.” Alex’s voice was velvet, the words dragged against the nap. “Makin’ eyes at me, flirtin’ wiv birds, stealin’ me drinks...a right brat if I ever saw one. What do you think I should do about that? Hmm?” Alex emphasized his question with a palm smoothing over Miles’ bare ass cheek, fingertips digging in and squeezing. “Fink I should turn your arse pink? It’s sooch a lovely color on you, Mi.”

Miles’ response was a breathless, “Yes,” to which Alex replied with a sharp slap to the ass cheek he was fondling.

“‘Yes,’ what?”

“Yes, Sir,” Miles hastily corrected. The title all but melted off his tongue.

Miles had almost died when Alex decided he’d like to be called ‘Sir’. ‘Master’ didn’t fit him, and he wasn’t into role playing as ‘Professor Turner’, so it came down to Alex being ‘Sir’, and Miles being his pup. And like a pup, Miles had rolled over and exposed his belly, begging to be scratched.

And clawed.

And bitten.

And he was more than a pup, but he was perfectly at ease with the way slag, and fucktoy, and whore rolled off of Alex’s tongue, like that’s what Alex had always called him, or at least, that’s what he’d always been. It set fire to Miles’ body, and it made him tingle between his hips as Alex had brought his hand down once more on Miles’ bare ass, laying licks down like it was second nature, sending Miles’ thoughts spiralling. He’d some notion about that point where pain blurs to pleasure, and he’d sampled it whenever Alex had pulled his hair or pinned him down, but this was beyond anything he imagined. 

He let himself enjoy it, every stinging swat, every crack of skin on skin, and he panted where he was bent over the arm of the couch, Alex’s leather jacket thrown there to tease him with the scent of faded cologne. Miles tightened his grip on it now, feeling another hot tendril of pleasure snap against him with a little grunt from Alex. He closed his eyes at the sound - Alex was enjoying this as much as Miles was. His cock throbbed, and he pushed his hips into the side of the couch, rutting against it.

Ever observant, Alex had noticed Miles’ lame attempt to ease some of the discomfort, and he’d been quick to pull Miles up from the couch, snaring hair and jaw from behind, pressing his mouth against Miles’ neck, digging his teeth in briefly before scolding.

“You can’t fookin’ sit still, I’ll make sure you don’t move, boy.”

Faster than Miles could comprehend, he was moving at Alex’s orders, dropping his clothes and taking a seat in one of the dining room chairs, his cock stiff, and neglected as Alex tightened the cuffs ( _for fuck’s sake, where had Alex gotten cuffs from?_ ) on Miles’ wrists, and then secured his ankles to the legs of the chair with rope ( _has he had this stuff the whole time?_ ).

Alex circled him again, hips swaggering, clad in those plum slacks that fit him like a glove, and the white button down which was barely holding on with three buttons still in place. He was unabashedly hard, his dick a prominent bulge pressed against the fly of his pants, and the way he walked was like his cock was leading him around the room. Miles couldn’t stop staring at it. He’d tapped in to all of Miles’ senses, made a feast for the eyes, ears, and mouth, licking and teasing his way up and down the tanned planes of the Scouser’s body, pinching his nipples, tugging gently at the hair surrounding his thickening cock. It became perfectly clear to the Scouser that the Northerner had him exactly where he wanted him.

The thought wrapped warmly around Miles as he relaxed in his bondage, and awaited Alex’s next move.

**************************

“Such a lovely picture you make, boy,” Alex rasped, raking his dark eyes over Miles’ lean frame sat in the chair.

Suppression of emotions and desires was almost second nature to Alex, and so he’d managed to keep it together as he’d bent the younger man over the couch and spanked his arse red. He’d felt that control start to slip when he’d ordered Miles into the living room and bade him strip, before banishing him to the chair he’d sat in front of the bay window. The curtains were drawn, closing the night out, and the lamps were dimmed, giving everything that whiskeyed glow. Miles’ eyes were like cognac, too, adding to Alex’s inebriation that had been brought on by Miles’ sudden, but very welcome, submission.

“You’re a flirt, you know that? Wiv me, an’ wiv danger, boy. Always lookin’ to get a feel in when you fink no one’s watchin’. Always workin’ your way into me cracks an hangin’ on, lingerin’. I love the feel of it, mind you, havin’ you always there. But there’s a time an’ a place, yeah?”

His litany as he’d secured Miles to the chair would have sounded almost casual, had it not been for the way lust had thickened his voice. Miles’ cologne was clawing at Alex’s senses, and the Scouser’s naturally cool skin had heated, and turned rosy.

“You gonna be my good boy, Mi?” Alex asked sweetly, standing between Miles’ spread knees, hand cupping his jaw and pulling his gaze to his. “Hmm?” He scraped the damp hair from Miles’ forehead. “Gonna let me do what I please?”

“Y..yes, Sir,” Miles stuttered, blushing at his broken words.

Alex grinned, but it was anything but friendly. He felt another surge of desire whip up his spine as Miles softened. Flicking his tongue along his bottom lip, Alex slid his hand up into Miles’ hair and yanked him forward, watching the lean shoulders stretch, and the muscles of his arms tighten as he strained against the cuffs. Alex pushed his hips forward at the same time, and Miles let out a muffled groan as his face was effectively pressed into Alex’s crotch, nose digging into his groin.

“Good boy,” Alex murmured. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a stainless steel cock ring and held it out for Miles to see. “Let’s begin.”

************************************


	2. The Only Ones Who Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.
> 
> For mybrbie on Tumblr who loosely prompted about Milex fooling around under a table at a restaurant while the other Monkeys sit with them, unawares. Remember when I said I could kill ten birds with one stone? Here's two with one, as a compromise. It seemed to fit nicely in this verse, so I went with it. It's more or less a non-linear timeline, and it's not really planned out per chapter. I'll take more prompts on tumblr, for this story, or any other, so come hit me up. Unabated, written on the fly, so deal with my grammatical errors and my spelling mistakes.

It starts before the first course, of course; and of course there’s tequila - margaritas to be exact, shaken, not stirred, thank you very much. Alex is just swiping his tongue over the salt on the rim when he feels it: the smooth, steady slide of long, agile fingers curling over his thigh, skimming along the faded dark denim to press into the inside of his knee. Quickly tipping the glass, Alex gulps the concoction of tequila, and lime, and attempts to close his legs.

Miles, of course, isn’t having it. The scouser curls his fingers along Alex’s leg, which is currently pressed against his, and he hooks the tendon behind the knee, digging in enough to make Alex wince, and choke on his mouthful of liquor.

“You alrigh’?” Matt asks, glancing up from the menu he’s perusing.

Pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, Alex nods, and suddenly finds the pasta section of his own menu incredibly intriguing. He clears his throat rather loudly, and shoots Miles a sidelong glance as if to ask, _Are you fookin’ daft? The other guys are at the table_.

Miles’ silent reply is a scant shrug of narrow shoulders, and his own haughty look right back at Alex. _Exactly_ , those hazel eyes reply smugly, _so what are you gonna do about it?_ Just to be a dick, Miles arches his brow and slides just the tips of his fingers back until they’re dancing along the upper part of the inside of Alex’s thigh. _Maybe if he didn’t wear the jeans,_ Miles thought to himself, taking another sip of his own margarita, _I wouldn’t be so tempted_.

This, of course, is a lie - Alex Turner has utterly gorgeous thighs, and he shows them off regularly in the tight jeans he’s adopted as his uniform as of late. In truth, Miles thinks his arse looks divine in any of those crisp pairs of suit pants, the plum ones being his favorite, but Alex’s thighs are a whole other chapter in the book Miles writes in his mind entitled _**Alex Turner is Ruining My Life.**_

He’s strangely okay with being ruined, though.

 _And_ , Miles’ conscience continues, _it’s been way too long since we’ve been together_. It really has; more than a few months have passed, and Miles finally had some time to get his shit together and come to LA, to party, see some live shows, drink, carouse, all of the things he and Alex always get up to.

One of those things is sex. _Of course_ it’s the sex, gods above and below, the sex is unbelievable, sweet and hot, rough and tumble, harsh hands, harder kisses, and trembling explosions of love and lust that sort of go up like stardust.

Or boiling hot lava.

And it’s not always just _sex_ either, it’s the build up, the teasing, the flirting, and sometimes things can get downright nasty, even lewd, and Miles has been thinking non stop about getting his hands on Alex, on touching him, feeling his warmth, the lean muscle beneath smooth skin that belies the fragility frequently bestowed upon him. Alex is anything but. However, he does need to be boiled slowly, you can’t just throw him on a open flame and expect him to combust. No, you need to take your time, bring him off the simmer to a rolling boil, and then bask in the burn.

So, Miles has chosen Alex’s thigh, and with the way the older man is tensing and flexing, Miles is fairly certain he’s chosen his mark wisely. Alex shifts in his seat, and tries to pull away, but unless he wants to be blatantly obvious about it, he’s going to have to sit and suffer through whatever Miles has planned. Miles tightens his fingers around Alex’s knee, downs his margarita, and orders another round.

+

“And for you, sir?”

Alex manages to tear himself from Miles’ gaze to catch the waiter’s eye, and he stutters, feeling his cheeks heat, before glancing quickly to the menu. “Ehhh...dunno. How’s the arrabiata?”

“It’s excellent,” the waiter assures Alex. “One of my favourites.”

“Yeah, alrigh’, let’s do that then.” He hands his menu over and takes another sip from his third - no, _fourth_ \- margarita. It’s definitely his fourth; he’s feeling the looseness in his limbs from the tequila, and he’s leaning back in the booth, knees wide, open invitation to Miles. The fucker wants to play, Alex will let him. _Let’s see him be covert with tha’ shite when the other lads are present_ , Alex thinks with a grin. At least the booth is dim, and it’s rather close seating what with five around the table. Alex steals a glance to his right, where Nick is sitting, and he has a brief moment of panic - perhaps this isn’t the best time.

But then the waiter is asking Miles what he wants, and Miles of course has an answer for everything. “Do you recommend the lamb?” His fingers press into the inside of Alex’s thigh once more, and then he twists his wrist, and slides his first three fingers down along the fly of Alex’s jeans. Alex bites back a moan as the scouser wiggles his fingers against his balls, and he dares steal a glimpse of MIles, who’s doing his very best to not smile,and instead concentrate (mostly) on what the waiter is saying.

“Pan seared, served mid-rare at the most, with a pink peppercorn reduction.”

Miles emits a delighted hum, and the sound seems to travel from his throat right between Alex’s thighs, vibrating all the tender spots that have been untouched for so long. It’s never the same when he takes matters into his own hands; Miles just has a way of bringing forth some sort of raging beast that resides deep in the shadows of Alex’s darkest parts.

“Is it tender?” Miles continues loftily, pressing the heel of his hand against the semi-hard ridge of Alex’s cock, grinding against it until Alex sighs faintly, and his hips twitch in protest.

“ _Very_ tender, sir,” the waiter replies, suddenly focusing far too much on Miles.

Alex can't stop staring at Miles' mouth.

“Does it fall of the bone?” Miles presses his inquiry while he’s pressing Alex’s buttons, and Alex becomes far too aware that the waiter believes Miles is flirting with him. “Will it melt in my mouth?”

“For fook’s sake, Mi-” Alex snaps the menu from Miles’ hands and hastily holds it out to the waiter. “He’ll ‘ave the fookin’ lamb, rare, nix the reduction, baby asparagus, risotto.” 

The fingers curling against Alex’s balls pause, and then slide forward, and up, until they’re cupping his fly, and the hardness beneath. There, they squeeze - not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to remind Alex that he’s in danger of making a scene. The waiter swallows audibly and glances at Miles.

Miles grins, and nods. “That sounds lovely. And bring us all another round, yeah?”

The waiter collects the rest of the menus, and then leaves.

There’s a strange silence at the table and Alex tugs at the collar of his shirt before lifting his margarita and taking another large gulp. Then, he scans the others crowded around the table, all peering at him with a strange, leering curiosity. “Wot,” he asks flatly, burping slightly as he sets his glass down. “Trust Kane to fookin’ flir’ wiv everyone, am I righ’?” Alex chuckles and rolls his eyes.

The rest of the table takes the rib at face value and they share a laugh, while Miles merely snickers at Alex’s discomfort with the situation - with the waiter, around the table, and most definitely _under_ the table. Still, he flexes and curls those long fingers, thumb pressing into the other side of Alex’s dick through the heated denim. Miles’ reward for his persistence is another grunt, this one disguised as a clearing of a throat, and Alex scoots closer to the table, hips and all, and rests his elbows on the wood, clasping his fingers and feigning interest in Jamie’s recollection of his latest football match.

His mind, however, is on Miles’ _number one_ : sex in a public place. _Trust Miles to list that right away, the fucking exhibitionist_. He's always looking for a way to get Alex out of his comfort zone. While a little heavy petting under a table in a restaurant hardly constitutes the ‘sex’ part, the place is very much indeed ‘public’, and Alex is a mite concerned with the notion that Miles will _somehow_ manage to get Alex’s fly unbuttoned before the meal is served. The idea is thrilling, and terrifying, really, and even though he’d put up a bit of a protest during the introductory round of margaritas, Alex has never been one to back away from a challenge: if he says he’s going to do something, he’ll do it, or die trying. And Miles is very much aware of this.

Much to Alex’s dismay, Miles is always very much aware of how much he affects Alex, how every little touch, sigh, and lingering gaze is enough to make Alex turn gooey. Combined with the tequila, Alex is loose, and he’s daring. Not to mention horny as fuck: he hasn’t had proper time alone with Miles in weeks, shags and kisses a thing of heated memory that serve to make him sleep better, only to wake up alone, greeted by morning wood and good morning texts, and silly pictures throughout the day, all courtesy of the scouser who is now scraping his thumb nail along Alex’s shaft, making the already tight denim tighter. Alex immediately wishes to be anywhere but here.

Preferably somewhere private.

Naked.

With Miles.

 _Yeah_ , he thinks, his lips curving into a soft smile. His eyes go a little spacey as he lets one of a million fantasies begin to unfold.

“You’re staring into space,” Miles murmurs, shifting incrementally closer to Alex. Their shoulders are touching now, and Alex closes his eyes at the heat coming from Miles’ body. “Summat on your mind, laa?”

Alex’s hips roll forward, and his thighs close, momentarily trapping Miles. “What’s your game, Mi?” he murmurs, glancing about the table and smiling as he catches the tone of surrounding conversation.

“No game, Alex, other than crossing things off the list. What, you didn’t think I’d let you off the hook, did you? Besides, _you’re_ the one who picked number one.”

Alex shifts and closes his eyes briefly when he feels Miles’ fingers go pliant, opting for gentle massage rather than all out groping which he’s been doing for the last fifteen minutes. “I...fook, Mi, I know, but... _jesusfookinbloodychristmiles_ ,” he gasps, thankful for the sudden raucous roar of laughter from Nick on his side. “Here? In a restaurant?”

Miles’ elegant shoulder lifted in a dodgy shrug, and he seemed unruffled by Alex’s aprehension. “Don’t feel like you’re adverse to the idea,” he purrs, gripping Alex tightly. “Sides,” he says, leaning in and turning his voice to a whisper, “if you’re a good boy, _maybe_ I’ll let you swallow my come later.”

Alex’s cock throbs under Miles’ grip, and Miles can feel it, making the crooked smile on his face even wider than it already is.

“...paying attention when Miles is around.”

The sound of Miles’ name on Matt’s lips brings Alex’s head up, and he stares at the drummer for a moment, before Matt flashes a grin, dimples and all, and shakes his head. “Nowt, Turner. Joost sayin’ tha’ you’re never payin’ attention when Miles is around. ‘avin’ your own lit’l powwow over there, yeah? Go on, keep whisperin’.” He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand, but it’s done with good nature.

Still, it puts Alex on high alert, and he reaches into his shirt pocket, pulling out his cigarettes. “Need some air,” he mutters, nudging Miles aside with his knee.

Jamie snickers at the irony of Alex’s statement, but Alex ignores him, and instead looks to Miles, who hasn’t moved an inch. In fact, the Liverpudlian is still stroking Alex, although he’s back to the inside of the thigh. His hazel eyes hold Alex’s dark brown ones, flickering over the prominent features, and landing on his lips.

“Do you mind?” Alex murmurs, mouth quirking.

That little quirk makes Miles grin once more, and he shakes his head. “Not at all. M’off to the loo, anyway. C’mon, walk wiv me.” And he slinks out of the booth and stands, waiting for Alex to join him.

“You alright, Turner? Walkin’ a bit funny,” Miles breathes as he moves through the dining room to where the bathrooms are located, off the kitchen. When he turns around, he sees Alex’s dark eyes flare, and then narrow, and the shorter lad cuts left to head out of doors to have his cigarette.

“Ah, not so fast,” Miles declares, snagging the collar of Alex’s jacket. He gives a tug, and nods his head towards the bathroom.

Alex looks to the hallway, and then back at Miles. “Miles,” he says, “you’re not...you can’t be serious...in a fucking _bathroom_?”

Miles shrugs. “I want to cross _number one_ off of my list.” He eyes the hallway and then looks back to Alex. “Though, it _is_ a bit more private than I had in mind.” His hand slides down Alex’s back, following the lean muscle and the curve of his spin, until his fingertips are snagging the back pocket of Alex’s jeans. He slips one hand into a pocket and squeezes the firm round of Alex’s ass, and pulls him closer. “Unless...you want me to joost...bend you over the table, put your face in Jamie’s prime rib, and fook ya senseless?” The hold on Alex’s backside allows Miles to pull the older lad in with little effort, and thank goodness there’s enough shadows back here because Miles lines their bodies up expertly. With the height difference, he can feel Alex’s erection digging into his pelvis, while the half-hard state he’s in presses into Alex’s belly. Miles raises his eyebrows, daring Alex. “Maybe that _is_ what you want, hmm? Want Cookie to watch? Should we add it to your list? Imagine how red he’d turn if he knew-”

“Miles,” Alex growls, twisting in Miles’ grip.

“Settle,” Miles replies. The word is succinct, calm, collected, and commanding. “It were a joke, laa.” He squeezes Alex’s bum once more, and then slips his fingers out of the pocket, and nudges Alex towards the door. “Go an’ ‘ave your smoke.”

Alex’s eyes widen in disbelief, and he gapes at Miles for a moment. Then, he croaks, “Thassit?”

“What were you expecting?”

Alex sputters. He’s flailing about helplessly, caught between the bathroom and the bar, cigarette already between his fingers, and he feels all at once like Miles has reeled him in, and then tossed him back out to sea to flounder. “I...I joost...fook, Mi, it’s been a really long time, yeah?” He’s barely speaking in a whisper, and his cheeks are turning pink.

Miles watches Alex shift uncomfortably, and then he’s right back on the lad, backing him into a shadowed corner next to the mens’ room. One hand lands on the wall next to Alex’s head, and the other scales down Alex’s torso until it’s wedged between those lean thighs. Miles sweeps his hand up, palm grinding against Alex’s cock, which has gone from hard, to halfway, to full on so quickly that Alex winces, and whimpers, and throws his hips into action.

“Don’t really have a lot o’time,” Miles mutters before he slides his tongue up the centre of Alex’s bottom lip. “So this better keep you in line until later, young man.”

Alex shudders at the tone, and his eyelids slip closed as he nods frantically. “Please.” God, he’ll take anything, really, and as Miles’ graceful fingers slip Alex’s belt open and pop open the buttons on his fly, Alex’s fists curl at his side in an attempt to be patient. Miles can’t stand when Alex gets greedy, and it makes the Scouser play twice as dirty. If Alex can be still, and be quiet, the reward will be…

 _Fuck_. Alex shivers at the puzzling, but not completely unwelcome sensation that suddenly throbs at the underside of his cock.

“Look a’ that,” Miles purrs. “Gosh, Alex, that’s so pretty.”

There’s more tugging, the jangle of his belt buckle, and then pressure - sweet, agonizing pressure, and Alex blinks his eyes open to watch Miles slip the belt back into place. Any words of reprimand die in his throat as he takes in his state of readiness: Miles has lifted Alex’s cock to lay back against his belly, and refastened the belt to hold it there. The swollen, smooth head of his cock peeks out from the waistband of his boxers and jeans, clear fluid already slipping out with every beat of his heart. He’s literally tied Alex’s dick down...or up, depending on how you look at it, and Alex knows that every step he takes will make the sensitive head of his cock rub along his belly, sending pleasure shooting right down to his balls.

And when he sits - his thought is cut off as a hot wash of pleasure slides over him when Miles pulls his shirt back down, hiding the hold Miles has on him. Alex bites his lip and looks pleadingly at Miles.

“Hush, love,” Miles chides, tapping his fingertip against the head of Alex’s cock, pressing the silky fabric of his shirt against the slit there. He switches the finger out for his thumb, and grinds steady circles in that rhythm he knows will have Alex panting in no time. “Give us a kiss,” Miles whispers next, already curling his free hand behind Alex’s neck. “Fink you can sit still through dinner an’ dessert? Hmm? Fink you can do tha’ for me?”

Alex is practically cross-eyed at the sudden descent into the roles he and Miles are just discovering. His mouth hangs open, and his lids are half-mast as he gulps and nods, and sneaks his tongue out to catch Miles’.

The kiss is anything but delicate. Miles fists Alex’s hair and holds him steady while the fingertips of his other hand dance over the head of his cock, still separated by his shirt tails, and Alex is pushing his hips into Miles’ fingers while he clutches Miles’ shoulders, whimpering down his throat, his vision going white with the sensations. When they part, it’s wet, and it’s wanting, and Alex blinks dazedly at Miles.

“Let’s go,” Miles orders, nodding back to the restaurant. “Don’t want me lamb gettin’ cold, yeah?” He winks, and then saunters back into the dining room.

And Alex? Alex follows, cigarette still in hand, unlit, unsmoked, but the lad very much on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come find me on tumblr and give me all the prompts @kittykillswitch


	3. To My Message You Replied

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.
> 
> So...it's Milex phone sex. Vilex moan fex. Don't ask. Leave kudos! Or cookies. Or Cookie. Or comments.

“What are you wearing?”

Alex smiles at the familiar thrum of Miles’ voice, and he sinks down into the overstuffed chair in the hotel room. “Hello to you, too,” he murmurs. Long fingers rub over his eyes; he’s tired, having played a sold out show, but not too tired to talk to Miles. They’ve been apart for almost six weeks now, and Alex is nearly crawling out of his skin with need. His body must be hardwired to react to Miles, whether he’s in the same room or not, and Alex can’t help the sense of calm that comes over him when his brain registers it’s Miles. He tingles at the thought of the younger man, and the space between his hips begins to turn liquid and warm.

Maybe Miles can sense the urgency, a thousand miles and five time zones away. “I asked you a question, Alex,” he sings. “Tell me what you’re wearing,” he reiterates.

Alex smirks, liking the way Miles takes control of situation. Alex would be perfectly content with a casual exchange of current events, which usually led to being lulled to sleep by Miles’ voice, but tonight Alex can hear gin sauntering round the scouser’s words, and he quickly remembers his own _number four_ : phone sex.

Now, Miles isn’t one to do anything half-assed, but Alex suspects the cliched introduction is merely a result of Hendricks and cucumber, so he plays along, and stretches his legs out, walking his fingertips down the front of his shirt. “M’wearin’ that black button down shirt, yeah? The one you say they had to sew onto me in order to get it to fit so obscenely.” It does the trick: Miles moans happily, encouragingly, and so Alex continues. “The grey Hugo Boss slacks, too. The fitted ones.”

“Those look so great on your arse, baby,” Miles sighs.

Alex blushes at the term, but he forces himself back to the moment, and remembers to enjoy it. Anything Miles has ever brought to the table, on the list or otherwise, has always resulted in pure enjoyment for Alex, and often became a rather eye-opening experience. Alex isn’t a complete noob to phone sex, but it is a first for him and Miles.

“What’s on underneath?”

Alex pauses and frowns, because he doesn’t actually remember, not precisely. “Ah...like, boxer briefs,” he answers breezily.

“What color?” Miles prods.

“Dunno,” Alex murmurs. He drops his voice to a thick whisper, hot honey on a silver spoon. “Should I find out?”

“Yes,” Miles agrees, practically groaning in his haste. “Open your trousers and tell me what you’ve got on, Alex.”

Alex thumbs his phone to hands free. If things are going where he’s fairly certain they’re going, he’s going to need both hands. When he’s settled back in the chair, he slinks down a little further, pushing his hips up, and flicks the catch on his slacks before sliding the zipper down.

“Christ, Turner, you got the phone against your dick?” Miles chuckles. “I heard that zipper like you were right here.”

“Close your eyes then,” Alex hums, “an’ I will be.”

Miles groans softly. “I miss you, baby.”

The softness in Miles’ tone, and the conviction therein, makes Alex smile warmly. “I know, love,” he coos. “Miss you too, yeah? But you’re coming to see me in Germany in two weeks.” He shifts around on the chair, managing to peel his trousers down enough so he can see the color of his boxers. “They’re black. Me boxers.”

“Big surprise,” Miles snorts. “I love how you look in them. Have I ever told you how much I enjoy your thighs?”

Alex bites his lip, and then flicks his tongue over the dent his teeth leave. “Once or twice,” he whispers, “as it were.”

“I have this little fantasy,” Miles begins, and Alex can’t help but reach up and undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt, letting it fall open on his chest, the air-conditioning of the room. He settles his palm against his chest, just feeling his skin, the warmth of it, and the shadow of dark hair on his sternum, before sliding over one pec and circling a nipple with his fingertips.

“Really,” Alex purrs. “An’ are you gonna share?”

“Where are you right now? Specifically, in the hotel room. On the bed?”

“Mm. Big arm chair in the sitting area.” Alex opens his eyes for a moment and assess the seat. “Could fit you on here wiv me no problem.” He closes his eyes once more and resumes tracing his nipple, wiggling his hips as it peaks and hardens to a tiny point, He scrubs his thumb across his tongue and brings it back down, rolling the tip roughly, before he pinches it. It makes him hiss through his teeth.

“Alex,” Miles sings softly. There’s some shifting and rustling, and then Miles’ voice is back. “Are you touching yourself?”

“Yeah,” Alex breathes. “Hm. Sort of.” He blushes, and curses the Liverpudlian’s ability to make him do so with nothing more than his voice. “Joost a bit,” he admits softly.

“Your nipples?” Miles ventures, knowing full well that’s exactly what Alex is doing. He knows that hiss too well.

“Oh, yes,” Alex intones thickly. “Wish it were you. God, you drive me fookin’ beserk, you know that, Miles? Always touchin’, an’ kissin’...biting, licking…” he breaks off and gives a little moan as he moves his fingers to his other nipple. His other hand is not idle, and it snakes down his belly, tracing his hipbones the way Miles would if he were there. “You were,” Alex rasps, pausing to lick his lips and swallow, and to regain some composure. “You were tellin’ me bout summat. A fantasy. Please, I want to all about it.”

Miles’ smooth chuckle rumbles down the line and Alex can’t help the way his toes curl at the delicious sound. Hooking an ankle over his knee, he works one sock off, then switches legs and does the same with the other sock, and then presses his toes into the plush carpet.

“You gotta keep your pants on for this.”

“Hmm?” Alex sits up, eyes half-open as if to level a confused look at Miles who could be sitting across from him had their schedules allowed. But, Miles isn’t there, and Alex stares at the wall of the hotel room, generic abstract painting in muted neutrals with a swath of red filling his vision. “What’s that?” he murmurs.

“Because in my fantasy,” Miles continues, “you don’t get undressed. I get undressed. You’re just like you are now, laa, after a show, loose an’ cocky, yeah? Don’t deny it, Alex, I know you too well.”

Alex’s mouth twists into a version of his self-assured grin, and he takes a moment to brush his hair from his eyes where it’s fallen from the hold of pomade, and then gives his nipples another feather light touch, before settling his hands on his thighs. With his fingers curling the cashmere, he takes a deep breath. “Keep goin’,” he asks Miles.

“It’s one of those times I come to see you, you know? An’ I’m standing on the wing of the stage, and you’re that scoundrel, that arrogant prick who knows he’s too good looking, too talented, too much for anyone else to handle, and it makes me more willing to put you in your place. I don’t want to control you, mind, just show you that you’re just as base as the next lad, you’re a cad, you’re a fool, but you’re _my_ fool, Alex. Aren’t you, baby?”

“Yeah,” Alex answers before he can think about it. It’s no lie; far from it. He and Miles are complete and utter fools for each other, and it works out so beautifully, he’s discovering. He gently huffs a breath and licks his lips, eyes dropping to where his cock is half-hard, bulge apparent, but not the thing it can be - it _will_ be, if he has an inkling.

“So, you do your thing, and you do it so well, Al, but when the show’s over, so is yours, and you come off stage full of life, an’ energy, it’s just seeping out your pores, and you glow, Alex. You glow like a gaslamp, like you’re a bundle of energy, and I want that energy. I want that in my bones. We go back to the hotel. There’s no need for the in between, is there?”

“No,” Alex admits readily. Already he’s feeling the effect of Miles’ narrative. Alex may have a gift for the written word, but no one can tell a story quite like Miles. He lets his dark eyes close and goes to that hotel suite in his heart.

“No,” Miles agrees. “So, you’re sitting. I want you sitting. You’re a good two inches shorter than me - “

“Eh,” Alex pouts.

“Shut up, I’m being generous, and you wear lifts. Can I continue? I really wanna come tonight, Alex, an I’ve been thinkin’ on this all bloody day.”

As soon as he hears Miles’ profess his need to come (and to use Alex as a means to get him there), the barb about his vertical challenges becomes a frivolous thing, and Alex bounces his hips so that the fabric of his boxers scrapes against his dick. “Keep going.”

“The only reason I want you to interrupt is with a moan, or a whimper, or to tell me how good it feels, okay?”

“Right,” Alex mutters, one hand curling on his thigh, the other rubbing the back of his neck.

“Alex,” Miles warns loftily. “What do we say when we understand?”

“Yes, _Sir_ ,” Alex drawls. God, the Scouser was really going to make him work for it, and they weren’t even on the same continent.

“Good boy,” Miles replies.

The cheek in his tone would normally make Alex fume, but one of the things he’s discovered is that he switches back and forth from the one who doles it out to the one who takes it, and Miles usually knows which one Alex needs before Alex even does. It’s a peculiar talent that Miles has, but Alex is grateful for it nonetheless. It takes the guesswork out for him. He doesn’t have to think, he just takes his cue and he does.

“Now,” Miles continues. “Once I’ve got you in the room, and I’ve got you seated the way I want, shirt unbuttoned, pants unfastened...oh, laa, you make such a lovely picture, all debauched and looking to get fucked.” Here he pauses, and waits for Alex’s answering moan. When he hears it, he grins, and keeps going. “But, I’m not gonna fuck you. I’m gonna make you watch. I’m gonna make you squirm. You’re only to touch when I say so, understand?”

Alex swallows thickly, eyes rolling back in his head, heat simmering up his spine, and that space between his hips a tingling mess of nerves and lust. “Yes, Sir,” he croaks. He dares to cast a glance down at his cock, and sure as shit, he’s almost completely hard, the fabric of his boxers pulled tight, and constricting sensitive skin.

“You hard, Turner?” Miles asks with a hint of venom. “That gorgeous cock o’yours standin’ up for me?”

_Christ, how does he **do** that?_ Alex nods, and then mumbles, “Yes, Sir. I’m hard.”

“Go ahead and touch yourself - _over_ your boxers, Alexander. Can’t have you going off before I’ve even gotten started.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” Alex sighs, pushing his palm down over his cock, rubbing the fabric to get friction.

“Tell me how good that feels, laa.”

Alex’s reply is a low moan, tightening at the end as his palm cups the very tip of his cock, rotating, and he grunts as he feels the fabric become damp.

“I bet that cock is already leaking. You’re always so ready for me, aren’t you, love?”

“I am, Sir.”

“I’ve seen a cock or two in my day,” Miles chuckles, “but yours, by far, is the prettiest, Alexander. Pull your boxers down so just the tip is showing - like at the restaurant.”

Alex quickly complies, tugging until the waistband traps his cock against his belly, the tip flushed and dark pink, precome clear and shiny as it smears over his skin. At the mention of restaurant, his mind flashes back to that moment where Miles strapped his cock to his belly with his belt and tortured him through the main course, only to move out back for a cigarette, which turned into Alex’s face pushed into the brick of the back alley, and Miles fucking him fast and furious, long fingers twisting into Alex’s hair to hold him still. Alex didn’t get one puff of that cigarette, merely watched the thing burn down as he clutched it between his knuckles and Miles fucked him, the Scouser’s other hand tight at the base of his cock, a thickly uttered warning not to come echoing in his mind.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” Miles’ voice trills in his ear. “Liked it when I had you tied down and whimpering, hm? You know why you liked it? Because I took away your choice. You didn’t need to make a decision. The only thing you needed to do was to feel. You did so lovely, laa.”

“Fuck, Sir - _Miles_ ,” Alex breathes. “I love it when you treat me like your whore,” he blurts out, cheeks turning hot when he realizes his admission.

“Oh, I know,” Miles answers. “Now, where was I? Oh yes. You. On the chair. Looking so positively fuckable, yeah? I want you to watch me. Are your eyes closed? Imagine me now, Alex, I’m standing right there in front of you, wearing those dark slacks and the cheetah print shirt. Watching you all night has made me so fuckin’ turned on, laa. The way you play the guitar, and play the crowd - hell, you practically fuck them both, don’t you? Just a fuckin’ show pony is what you are, an exhibitionist living in an introvert’s body. You get so caught up in all of it, the music, your words...do you think about me, when I’m there? Do you think about all the things you’re gonna do to me - that you _wanna_ do to me, while you’re up there? If I had to be anything in the world, I'd be your Vox, or maybe that microphone. Your mouth is a sin, Alex, made to be fucked, and to give orders.”

Alex grits his teeth, conjuring the cheetah print shirt and the Scouser within, tanned, sandy brown hair hanging over hazel eyes, scruff on his face, chain around his neck, rings on his fingers. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tells himself he can’t just haul his cock out and have a wank - Miles will know, especially when Alex starts moaning and cursing like he does when he’s about to come. But god, he wants to, and so he asks in a reed thin voice, “I want to touch myself.”

Miles coos, and the sound is anything but comforting. “I bet you do, laa. I bet after tonight’s show, that electricity is pulsing in your veins, looking for a way out. I’m gonna be that way out, but not before I say so.” 

There’s a bit more rustling on Miles’ end of the line, and then that tinny echo that indicates speakerphone takes over, and Alex smiles. Clearly the construction of Miles’ intricate tableau is having the same effect on Miles as it is on Alex.

“You’re watching me walk about that hotel room, wondering what my game is. I’ll pause, fix us a drink, and then bring them back to where you’re sitting, handing you one, watch your throat bob as you swallow.” Miles pauses with a hum. “That’s one of my favorite sights. I’ll perch on the table in front of you, right between your spread knees, set my glass down, and then slowly pull the buttons of my shirt open.”

Alex’s fingers curl again, wanting to feel the silky fabric of that shirt he knows from memory, and to touch the smooth, hot skin he knows is beneath - Miles is like an inferno always, and is the best to press against naked, no matter the time of year.

“I’d kiss you, too, you know,” Miles tells Alex, his voice soft. “I mostly miss kissing you, tasting your mouth and those little sounds you make. That mouth was made for kissing, too. And while I’m kissing you, I’ll trace me fingers over your neck, through your hair, down your chest, to your nipples - I know how much you love that. How it drives you crazy, makes your cock bounce in your trousers, making your boxers damp, and sticky. I want you touch your nipples again, Alex. Do it for me, now.”

In a trance, Alex obeys, and a whimper floats up from his chest as his hips arch up. He inhales sharply through his nose, hands becoming those belonging to Miles, and he swears he can feel Miles’ lips ghost over his neck and collarbones, the scrape of stubble burning against his skin, only to be blistered by more kisses. He licks his lips, and widens his knees, almost able to feel the pressure of Miles’ presence. The only thing that’s keeping him here in the otherwise empty room is the fact that there’s still air.

If Miles was there, his arrival would have sucked out every molecule of it.

But there’s the question of gravity, still, and Alex feels weightless as Miles’ voice carries him on through the scene - Miles kisses trailing down from Alex’s mouth, over his chin, along his collarbones, down his sternum, to dip the tip of his tongue into Alex’s navel, which makes Alex whine on any day, but tonight it’s laced with frustration. 

“I’d crawl into your lap,” Miles purrs, “and touch that cock I love so much. Do you want me to touch your cock, Alexander?”

“Yes,” Alex rasps. “Please, Sir, I need-”

“I know what you need, baby,” Miles interjects. “Miles knows, doesn’t he? Hm? Don’t I always take care of you in the best ways?”

Alex whines in response, teeth digging into his bottom lip, his hand hovering over the head of his cock still snug against his belly, still leaking, still hard, still throbbing and aching with every beat of his frantic heart.

“I want you touch your cock like it were me, yeah? Can you do that for me?”

Alex is already obeying, stretching his fingers out and dancing his fingertips up the length of his shaft, boxers and all, before they turn firm and drag back down. He does this for a spell, his other hand still toying his nipples and stroking a palm down over his belly. It’s not really enough, but it will have to do. He squeezes his eyelids closer together, like it will make Miles magically appear.

The Scouser’s phantom form does, at any rate, and in his ear Alex can hear Miles murmuring about what a perfect cock Alex has, how it’s nice and thick, curving at the end, making it a very useful fucktoy when need be. “And I love watching you come - watching it come spurting out your cock, thick, hot, splashing everywhere. That’s what I want from you, I want you to make a mess, baby. Harder,” Miles breathes, his own moan slipping out over the line.

That little moan does things to Alex’s guts, makes him feel euphoric and pathetic all at once. He’s Miles’ plaything, but he doesn’t really care, he can’t care, not with the way Miles is putting thoughts and orders into his head.

“Two hands, now, Alex,” Miles gulps. There’s a shifting of fabric again, and then another hollow groan, followed by more tight words from Miles. “Two hands, like I do it, one at the base, the other at the tip - fuck that’s always such a lovely thing, that gorgeous cock all hard and angry-red, caught in me fist, dripping twixt me fingers. Hmm, fuck, love, were I there, I’d take a taste.”

Alex takes his cue, licks his thumb, and swipes it over the head of his cock, slipping through the mess of precome. He does it again, rolling his thumb over the tip, around the edge, over the slit, before repeating the process, his other hand stroking quick and firm. It's nothing like Miles' tongue, but beggars can't be choosers.

“Go on, love, and take a taste for me.”

Dark lashes flutter at Miles’ command, and Alex sucks in a breath before he presses his thumb between his lips and sucks gently.

“That’s my good boy,” Miles replies, voice shaking. “Are you aching, Alex?”

“Yes, Sir,” he gasps.

“Do you want to come?”

“Oh, fuck, _yes, Sir_. Please.”

“Not quite, I’m not done with my fantasy.”

Alex groans, and squeezes his grip at the base of his cock, until the throbbing becomes dulled, and he eases back from the precipice. “Miles,” he warns, falling out of character.

“Oh, come on, Alex,” Miles pouts. “Promise it will be worth it. Now, I’m in your lap, and I’ve just given you a taste of that lovely dick that I’m still stroking, by the way. Go on, keep going. My pants are coming off. Then the briefs. See how hard I am for you? See what you do to me?”

Alex’s head rolls back in the chair, and his mind immediately fills with the image of Miles naked and aroused. It’s a lovely sight, with Miles being lanky, and long-limbed, tanned everywhere (like, _everywhere_ ), and smooth - not a hair on him, save for the dark curls at the base of his cock, a soft line leading up to just below his navel. Curls that Alex is very familiar with - sight, touch, scent, all of it. And then there’s Miles’ cock, thick and long, tapering to a spearhead of a tip, the king of spades. Alex’s tongue rolls against the inside of his cheek with his thoughts, and he gives his cock another rough squeeze, and despite Miles’ strict orders, he strokes himself again.

“We’ve not done this before, Alex, are you ready? I’m back in your lap. Pelvis to pelvis. God, my cock is right against yours, can you feel it? See the tips touching?”

Miles is cut off by Alex’s sharp cry.

“Mmm, yes, that’s what I thought, baby. It’s driving me wild, too. Just look. Look at them, Alex, look at our cocks touching, feel the heat, feel how hard I am for you. God, I’d fuck you so hard right now if I was there.”

“God, yes, Miles, I want that. Want all of it.”

“Do you want to come?”

“You know I do,” Alex answers roughly.

“I want to come, too. Stroke yourself, Alex, fast, and rough. I know you won’t last long-” Miles breaks off with a whine and another curse “-and neither will I. When I get there in two weeks, we’re not leaving the room for days, you hear? Fuck, Alex,” he grunts, before giving way to sighs and moans. “Fucking hell, I love your cock, I love your come, I love you, Alex. Fuck! I love you Alex. I love you, I love you, I love you-”

And during Miles’ mantra, his heated words, Alex’s vision goes white, and his heart stops, he’s sure of it. He can’t make a sound, only stare up at the ceiling as suddenly his veins bubble and fizz, and his hips bounce and arch, fisting his cock madly, tweaking his nipples, muttering over and over, “Yes, Miles, I love you, too, oh _god_ , Miles, I love you, I’m coming. I love you. I’m coming, oh _Jesus_!” 

A few moments pass, nothing but heavy breathing and shaking sighs. Slowly, Alex comes around from his brain oozing out the tip of his cock, and he coughs once, and then hums long, and languid.

“Did you make a mess, Alex?” Miles whispers.

Alex blinks his eyes and glances down, and sure enough, he’s done exactly that: barely undressed, and his come has sprayed right across his chest, a pearlescent accent on his black shirt, and it’s dripping between his fingers, and scattered in the dark curls framing his still throbbing cock.

“Hmm,” he says, lifting his sticky hand to his mouth and licking a few drops away. “I did.”

“Take a picture for me.”

“Wha?” Alex slurs.

“Come on, I want to see,” Miles prods. “I’m sweaty and sticky meself. Here,” and there’s a soft click, and then Alex’s phone lights up where he left it on the table next to him.

His eyes are at half mast as he slides them over and sees the preview of what Miles has sent him, so he gingerly picks up the phone with his clean hand and swipes the message open. “Oh, fuck, Mi,” he whispers, eyes going wide at the sight. Miles has taken a mirror selfie, hand still on his cock, come dripping over his knuckles, and skin flushed and shiny. “That’s a keeper,” he decides, clicking to save the pic.

“Just..don’t forget your fucking password again,” Miles gripes. “Come on, Alex, your turn.”

Alex’s cheeks heat as he contemplates Miles’ request. He’s not nervous that someone else might see it - Miles is nothing but discreet. But he’s never actually taken a dirty picture before, least of all one of himself. “You’re not trying to cross two things off the list at once, are you?”

Miles laughs. “No, Alex. Though, now that you mention it, I suppose a dirty photog session could be in order.”

“No,” Alex hurriedly decides. “That’s quite all right.”

“If you don’t want to send me a picture, it’s okay, you know. I understand.”

Alex bites his lip and contemplates his options, before turning the camera on and flipping it to the forward-facing option. Immediately he’s greeted with his flushed cheeks, his hair flopping down over his forehead, and his eyes bright and spacey.

He sets up his phone on the table, propping it up with a stack of books.

He extends his leg, and affects a lazy pose, pouting into the camera, and then taps the shutter with his toe.

“Right, you fuckin’ pervert,” Alex murmurs, tapping the send picture option to Miles. “Suck on this. And cross _number four_ off me list.”


	4. Wrapped in a Gasp

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.
> 
> This is in reply to a submission on Tumblr - that's right, this story is open for submissions! Send me your kinks, give me your sins, find me on tumblr @kittykillswitch. I got two different asks for breath play / choking, one who asked that Alex is the one who is choked, and the other who asked that Miles is the one who is choked. As I actually started writing this one before I received EITHER prompt, I went with the way I started it. So...Dom!Alex and sub!Miles are found here, but I'm thinking that if Alex sees how much Miles enjoys it, perhaps he'll want a go? Anyway...if you're going to do this, or you've been thinking about it, please, please PLEASE do your homework, make sure you're with someone whom you love and trust, and that you have safe words or signals in place, all right? And if this isn't your bag, I don't want to hear about it. Just don't read it, okay?

“Joost breathe.”

Such a simple thing, that.

Easy to do.

So easy.

But take it away, and it creates a myriad of sensation - giddiness, arousal, excitement, pleasure.

Miles has been privy to it once, a long lost lover come to call, chin caught in the crook of an elbow, a tug, a tightening, and black spots forming at the edge of his vision.

He’d come gloriously, the rush through his veins and erupting from his cock next to nothing he’d ever experienced before. If he had to describe it, it was like the fast fuse-burn of cocaine, but even that was tame compared to this.

The thought of it - of having it done to him by Alex - makes Miles’ cock throb; in truth, that little dig about ‘being choked until you see stars’ four months ago had not been lost on Miles.

Alex doesn’t comment when Miles’ list is suddenly longer, because Alex’s list is growing longer, too.

And when they’re sitting watching the telly, and Alex gets up to make a drink, only to come back and slide a possessive hand around the back of Miles’ neck, Miles leans into it, a softly whispered moan on his lips which Alex reads, and considers for a moment, before his hand moves around to Miles’ throat. Miles’ breath hitches, and his fingers curl into the fabric of his jeans as he waits for it.

It seems like ages, really, the scent of Alex’s skin, and his cologne, right under Miles’ nose, and the warmth of Alex’s hand seeping into his body, the very presence of Alex standing behind him only serving to push Miles’ cock to half-hearted attention. Just a flutter of those fingers, and Miles will be pliant, he knows this, and Alex knows, too.

Alex’s hand moves, pulling Miles’ chin up a fraction, cupping the underside of it in the crook between his thumb and the rest of his fingers, said thumb pushing up against the pulse, fingers finally moving in a series of chords that make Miles’ blood sing. His moan is choked as Alex tightens his grip, and pulls back, and up, until the back of Miles’ skull is pressed into Alex’s belly, the buckle of his belt digging into the back of his neck. Alex’s free hand slides into Miles’ silky hair and tightens, pulling the scalp and causing bright, hot flashes of pain to zip down Miles’ spine.

At the tightening of Miles’ body, and the stillness of his frame, Alex hums his approval, and flexes his fingers again. It makes Miles choke on another whimper, and his hips twist as he feels his cock rise. Barely a breath is making it to his lungs, and he’s waiting - oh, he’s waiting until Alex takes that, too, total control, telling him when he can breathe and when he can’t.

But Alex has his own plan, and though he likes the sounds that Miles makes, and the tautness of the younger lad’s body at his touch makes him react in kind, Alex knows that the best thing is not to give in, not to give Miles his satisfaction right away. Alex squeezes incrementally harder, and hears the breath squeeze to a whine, before leaning down to Miles’ ear and whispering very darkly,

“Good boy.”

Then, he releases him, and the room seems to swell and contract just as Miles’ lungs are doing as he gasps, and pants, and turns sparkling eyes at Alex in question.

“I had to be sure,” Alex explains.

Miles nods, his fingers ghosting over the reddened skin of his throat, his jeans still uncomfortably tight, his heart pounding, his body singeing as oxygen enters his blood once more. His eyes fall to Alex’s fly, and sure enough, the older lad is unmistakably hard, and Miles shivers with anticipation. 

“Come to bed,” Alex suggests, the fingers he’d wrapped in Miles’ hair turning gentle, and soothing away the sting from moments before.

Miles obeys, no questions asked.

+

A week later, Alex literally takes Miles’ breath away.

There’s no discussion before it, but there’s lots of flirtatious tension being poured on at the event where they’re both in attendance. It’s one of those ones where industry folks, and fans, are crawling about the venue, so it’s not like they can share a quick snog in the corner, cop a feel out in the open, but they are still rather... _friendly_ with each other. Alex watches Miles all night, watches as he flits from group to group, throwing his head back to laugh, showing off the curve of his neck, the rise of his Adam’s apple, his voice snapping Alex’s synapses to full attention. It’s almost like a little game between them, this beck and call thing - Miles is the strutting bird trying to get Alex’s attention, and it’s working.

It’s working very well.

Almost too well - he’s attracting a lot of attention from other people too - men and women, all of them who seem very interested in the Scouser in the sharp grey suit and the electric purple shirt beneath. It’s not like Alex is worried about where he and Miles stand. He knows full well that at the end of the night, the Scouser is coming home with him, but there’s a deeper part of Alex, one that’s perhaps a little more base, and a lot more animal than he’d be willing to confess, that wants to make it clear that Miles is _his_.

The thought makes him pause as he lights a cigarette, some bird going on in his ear about summat, or someone, he’s not sure, but as he’s putting flame to the tip of the tobacco, he glances up, sees Miles, thinks _mine_ , and it shakes him to the core.

“I mean, what do you think?”

Alex snaps out of his reverie and glances at the girl next to him, a cheap shot of whiskey in a too-tight dress with a faded smile. He’s polite to a fault, as he always is, and he shrugs, and murmurs, “Haven’t invested anything into that, to be perfectly honest love.” He then excuses himself with another polite smile, and moves towards Miles.

+  
Miles senses him standing ten feet away. He’s quite certain he’d feel Alex if he was a thousand miles away, but the close proximity, the fact that they are contained in one space is enough to give Miles pause and make him shiver despite the warm spring air that sweeps through the LA evening. He glances up from where he’s standing next to a few acquaintances, and his gaze automatically finds Alex’s: dark, penetrating, intense.

Something is on his mind, and Miles has a feeling he’s part of whatever it is. He downs the rest of his champagne, and sets the empty flute on a nearby ledge, before he takes his exit, and moves through the crowd towards Alex. 

They meet somewhere in the middle, among voices rising and falling like waves of the sea, and peals of laughter cut through the night, but really, it’s just the two of them under the string of white twinkle lights as the current shifts around them. Alex merely tilts his head towards the exit, and Miles nods once. There’s no need for words at this point; they’re not naive, and they know exactly how nights like this end: with sweat-slicked skin, exhausted exclamations of ecstasy, bruises, bumps, and bright eyes. They can barely contain the bounces in their steps as they hastily make their exit, and tumble into a waiting taxi that carries them back to Alex’s house.

+

They are hands and lips and eyes, tongues and touches, fumbling fingers pulling buttons and belts loose for their cause. Alex lets Miles have his way and push him into the wall of the front hallway, hands slipping into the open placket of Alex’s shirt and skimming down his flanks, memorizing his ribs and his skin, pressing his nose into Alex’s throat and imprinting his scent on his brain. With a groan, Miles moves his lips over Alex’s collarbone, and then his jaw, hotly whispered words of desperate fantasy floating up around them. Miles wants him, and Alex is content to let the younger man paw, and purr, and get his fill.

“I wanna suck your cock,” is all Miles breathes before he’s falling to his knees. Before Alex can register that this doesn’t exactly coincide with his plans, Miles has his slacks open, and pulls the zipper down before pushing his face into Alex’s groin and inhaling with a sigh.

This might actually work to Alex’s advantage. He pets the back of Miles’ head, murmurs his approval of Miles’ actions, and just as Miles leans back to look up, Alex sneers, and cups the skull at his pelvis, and digs his hips forward. “Joost breathe,” he mutters, as Miles fingers flail and curl about Alex’s hips and thighs.

Miles sobs at the sudden press of fabric, of heat, of male scent, and he drowns in it, inhaling, barely getting oxygen, and his muffled whimpers sound impossibly loud, and incredibly desperate, which makes his cheeks heat, and his cock thicken where it’s encased in slacks that Alex was right about - _too damn tight to begin wiv_. When the pressure on his skull eases off a fraction, Miles tips his chin up, looks up the length of Alex’s body, and almost loses himself right there. Alex is positively commanding in his stance, eyes glittering like obsidian, and it makes Miles’ skin quiver. He feels Alex’s fingers glide through his hair before coming to rest on his cheek, thumb stroking over his jaw and holding him there, a pensive look in his eyes. Leaning down, he puts his nose within a fraction of an inch from Miles’, and he narrows his gaze.

“Who’s my good boy?” Alex’s voice is dark, and low, and it Miles tremors in its wake.

“I am, Sir,” Miles promptly answers.

“And you’ll do as I ask of you, I’m sure?”

Miles smiles softly, and his tone is nothing if not trusting. “Of course, Sir.”

Alex returns Miles’ smile. “If I say jump, you’ll do so. If I say sit, you’ll do so.” He lists off mundane things at first, and his hand strokes the angles and planes of Miles’ face, paying special attention to his jaw, his mouth, his chin, and his throat. “You’ll speak when I say so, you’ll come when I say so,” and here pauses, and flexes his fingers around Miles’ throat just enough so that Miles’ eyelashes flutter, and his face takes on a expression of complete and utter bliss that makes Alex’s heart pound madly. Alex leans closer still, squeezes more, and puts his lips right against Miles’ and softly says, “You’ll breathe when I say so.”

Miles tries to swallow as best he can, and he loves the feel of Alex’s grip on him. “Yes,” he croaks out hoarsely. “Yes, Sir. I will, Sir.”

Miles’ acquiescence settles as a warm throb between Alex’s hips, and he pulls back a fraction and smirks. “Of course you will.” He stands, and loosens his grip on Miles’ throat, and the look of disappointment on the younger lad’s face doesn’t go unnoticed. Alex clucks his tongue in reprimand, and draws his fingers back to press Miles’ chin up so he can stare deeply into those clear hazel depths. “Don’t pout, Miles,” he coos. “Joost breathe.”

+

He is full of Alex’s cock.

First it is his throat, Alex’s slick, hot, fuck-muscle cutting of his air, making him gag and choke. Miles’ hands tighten on Alex’s hips, not a sign of distress, but one of determination. He wants to feel that helplessness, and before he realizes it, the hesitant push away became a frantic pulling forward, accompanied by Alex’s heated groan, and Alex’s fingers twisting into his hair, helping him along the way. When Miles’ nose brushes the dark curls of Alex’s groin, and he felt the soft warmth of Alex’s balls against his chin, Miles goes lax, and moans as best he can with his mouth full, while Alex blinks down at him, eyes dark and wide with excitement.

Alex works him like that for a spell, backing off when there is a fleeting flash of panic in Miles’ gaze, sliding back in when Miles nods and sucks in another breath to sate him for the next several seconds of sweet torture. The only thing that would make it better would be to be filled top to bottom like this, unable to move of his own accord, not required to think, only to feel, and react, and succumb to another’s whim and word.

The thought is fleeting, however, as Alex’s free hand moves over the bulge in Miles’ throat, squeezing, grunting his delight in Miles’ acceptance of task at hand. Between the heat and the pressure, Alex is in heaven, and his bare toes curl against the hardwood floor as he takes in Miles’s posture: naked, save for the snug, black briefs, and on his knees, that smart mouth of his wedged open by cock, the way made easier with the spit and precome gathering at the corner of those lips. He could easily come like this, blast his load down Miles’ very willing throat, roaring over the sound of Miles desperately choking, looking positively frantic as he fights for breath.

But then Miles’ fingers curl into Alex’s belt and tug, and Alex flicks his sweat-dampened hair from his eyes and stares down at the boy on his knees. Even as his hips wind and Miles sucks and swallows harder, Alex can see something there in Miles’ eyes. Very suddenly, Alex pulls his hips back, the tip of his cock passing Miles’ lips as the Scouser coughs and groans, and sucks in a few heaving breaths.

“More?” Alex hums, combing his fingers back through Miles’ hair.

And Miles, bless him, has the gumption to look ashamed of his need, and he bites his lip and looks at the floor, nodding silently as his cheeks turn pink. “Y-yes, please, Sir,” he rasps.

“Miles,” Alex calls, tugging Miles’ hair so that they might look at each other in the moment. “What do you want?”

Miles’ eyes slip closed for a second, and then he opens them, the irises so bright that they’re edging more towards green than that hazel color Alex knows so well. It’s the tears that make them flash like that, Alex realizes, and when Miles fingers twine with his belt, Alex puts the equation together in his mind, even as Miles gently asks,

“Your belt, please, Sir. I...I want it…”

Alex nods. “Round your neck?”

Miles body sags with relief. “Yes,” he nods quickly. “God, yes, please, Alex,” he hurriedly replies.

Alex doesn’t bother with reprimand at the use of his name, but instead watches as Miles’ eyes widen with pure excitement as he slowly pulls his belt from the loops on his slacks. When the length of leather is free, and the buckle knocks on the floor, Miles raises up from where he’s sat on his heels, and he slips his fingers down the soft, supple surface, watching his fingers work before he looks to Alex once more. Alex plays his part, taking up his belt and looping it behind Miles’ neck, gathering both ends in his fist and tugging sharply. It’s enough to correct Miles’ lax pose, and he goes rigid with a yelp, and feels his arousal burn as Alex’s dark eyes glow like embers.

“Good boy,” Alex murmurs. “Now, then. How about you get down on all fours?”

+

Once more, Miles is filled with Alex’s cock.

It took a few tries to find a position that would work for all the details, but Miles is very satisfied with his face pressed against the mirrored surface of Alex’s closet doors, his forearms braced there as the strip of leather that is Alex’s belt bites into the skin of his neck. Alex is buried deep in his ass, not really moving more than a few inches at best - he’s more or less letting Miles set the pace here, even though it’s his hand on the end of the makeshift leash.

“D’you know how fookin’ good you look like this? Hm?” Alex breathes as he tugs again, pulling Miles up enough so that he comes away from kissing the glass and gets an eyeful of what he’s become.

He _does_ look good like this, and if the thick, unyielding heat that’s filling him is any indication, Alex finds it just as arousing. As he is, Miles is sweating, tanned skin taking on a sheen that makes him almost golden in the dim light of Alex’s bedroom, and Alex pressed close, heat being exchanged, breath lingering on his shoulder, whispered words and the ghost of his teeth both pressing against his skin. Miles is achingly hard from negligence, but each twitch of Alex’s hips pushes against that swollen part deep inside that, when touched, makes him shudder. And with every push of those hips, there’s an answering tug on the belt, and it plunges Miles deeper into ecstasy.

Alex is fascinated with the scene, and is almost removed from himself as he watches it all unfold. There was no resistance when he slid into Miles, only welcoming heat, and the pure excitement in those blazing eyes makes Alex rabid with want. He could tear Miles apart right now, and he’s certain the Scouser would be fine with it. The buckled end of his belt digs into the back of Miles’ neck, and the tongue of leather wrapped in Alex’s fist is tantamount to the life he holds by a thread. Miles has trusted him with everything, every step of the way, and it’s not lost on Alex. His heart swells with it, his veins churn with it, his hips buck gently with every thud of his rapid heart. 

As realization of this new found chapter hits him, Alex tugs the belt once more, sharper than the last few times, and he pairs it with a grunt, and a sneer, and quick dig of his hips. The hand not wielding the leash falls to Miles’ hip and he grips the narrow bones and sinew, flesh hot beneath his fingertips, and he pulls Miles back down, wrenching a tight whine from the Scouser’s throat. Miles face turns a darker shade of red, cheek and jowl pushed up from the force of the belt at his throat, and his eyes squeeze shut, tears sparkling at the ends of his impossibly long eyelashes.

“Fookin’ gorgeous, baby,” Alex murmurs, pulling the belt taut and bringing Miles’ shoulders back to touch his chest. He winds the slack of the belt around his fist and snaps the belt again, putting an arch in Miles’ spine, and that helpless, blissful look back on his face. Alex’s hand circles down from Miles’ hip and engulfs the Scouser’s cock, squeezing there, squeezing his throat, strangling him top and tail. “Fookin’ gorgeous,” he repeats, tongue lashing over that spot behind Miles’ ear, “an’ all mine.”

Miles nods as best he can, and gives a breathless, “Yes,” to which Alex replies with another series of blasts from his hips, churning up into the younger lad while his hand strokes down on his cock. It serves its purpose, making Miles’ strained thighs shake, his body tightening where Alex breaches him.

Alex holds Miles’ gaze as his fist becomes a blur, scraping over sensitive flesh with callouses and care, clamping down harder as the leather bites into the skin on Miles’ throat. “You gonna come?” Alex whispers harshly, and he doesn’t need to ask because he knows the answer.

But Miles chokes on a sob and nods as best he can, and he lets his hips go loose in Alex’s hold, and he places his palms on the mirror and pushes back, fucking himself right back onto Alex even as he’s pulled and prodded, throttled by the older lad’s will. He feels like he’s on fire, and his head is swimming from the lack of oxygen - it’s all a blur, really, and numbness bordering on pleasure, all gently washed in a dark purple hue of genuine fear - fear of not breathing, fear of not coming, fear of not being Alex’s.

Maybe it shows on his face. Maybe there’s something in the next hitch of his strangled breath, maybe it’s how his fingers curl on the reflection of their shuddering bodies, but Alex’s lips hover next to his ear, that sweetly fevered whisper bringing Miles back from the brink of panic: “You’re mine, Miles,” Alex reiterates, “an’ you’ll come for me now.” Those black spots are back at the edges of Miles’ vision, and he feels white hot and tingling as he pushes himself to obey Alex’s command, and ignore his body’s demand for air. 

Something shifts inside of Miles, body and soul, and it reaches out to Alex, right into his very heart. Goddamn Miles for giving himself up like this, and making it mean so much to Alex. Even as he chokes Miles harder, Alex can’t help his own wistful sigh as he buries his face next to the sweet smell of Miles’ skin, and the strong, earthy scent of worn leather. His lips press against the welts on Miles’ skin and he churns his hips faster as he works Miles’ cock, now swelling as the Scouser chokes on Alex’s words.

“Fookin’ come,” Alex warbles, eyes squeezing shut against the blast of pleasure that rocks him to the core. “Fookin’ come for me, Mi,” he gasps, twisting his fist around the cock he holds. He gives the belt one more sharp tug and growls, “ _Now_.”

Miles silently implodes, vision almost completely dulled, his pulse roaring in his ears, and white hot numbness filling him. His fingertips squeal as they skate over the mirror searching for purchase, something to grasp, to hold onto, because he’s certain he’s going to fall endlessly. He teeters on edge, his skull pounding, and then suddenly air, gloriously sweet, air thick with the scent of Alex is filling his lungs, and the belt slips down to lay limp on his collarbones. Another rush of pleasure surges through his blood, and he gasps and takes in air as the endorphins dump into his system and make him borderline hysterical. When he comes back down, he blinks his vision back in time to see the mess he’s spattered on the mirror. He slumps back against Alex, fingers trailing down the glass, smearing the mess as he goes.

“I’ve got you,” Alex murmurs, his hands turning gentle, even as his own orgasm bubbles and erupts like lava. “‘V’got ya,” he repeats, gentle hand cradling Miles’ face against his own. He feels wetness slip down his own cheeks, a result of what Miles has given him freely, and he chokes on its meaning. He hiccups a gasp, which sounds more like a sob, and his lips ghost along Miles’ jaw, tasting the breath the Scouser is struggling for. 

Alex tightens his arms around the lithe frame he cradles, emptying the last of himself into Miles’ body as he softly commands, “Joost breathe.”

Such a simple thing, that.


	5. Aces Up Your Sleeve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.
> 
> This is the result of an anon prompt on tumblr! Get your stogies and your whiskey; these boys are pulling an all nighter!

Miles eyed the pile of chips in the middle of the table, and cast a wary glance around at the others gathered round. Cookie’s blue eyes were shifting left to right, taking in Nick’s rather goofy grin, and Matt’s attempt to seem unaffected by his own healthy pile of winnings. Miles wasn’t doing too bad, but he’d definitely done better in the past. He didn’t know why they’d never thought to play poker before, but judging from the way Nick was bleeding chips, he gathered that was the reason. He glanced to the hallway that led out of the kitchen before thumbing over the cards in hand once more.

“Tell me again why we didn’t ask Alex to play?”

“We did ask him,” Nick mumbled. “He joost begged off, yeah?”

“It’s cards, though,” Miles continued. He plucked the stub of his cigar from the ashtray and puffed it back to smoking, and then blew a series of rings. “I mean...it’s a guy thing, innit? Sittin’ round, smokin’ cigars, swigging beers. Stealin’ your mates’ cash.”

Matt groaned and tossed some chips into the pot, and then laid his hand down on the table. “He’s not a fan of cards,” he warbled around his own cigar.

Cookie coughed something and then dropped his eyes to his cards, a little grin forming on his face.

“Oh, come off it, he plays canasta well enough, yeah?” Miles replied, pulling two cards from his hand and pushing them towards Nick, who was the dealer for that round. 

“Yeah...but poker’s completely different,” Nick said, flicking cards out onto the table. His grin widened a fraction, if that were at all possible.

Silence filled the kitchen once more, save for the occasional clearing of a throat, and the shuffling of cards. Miles narrowed his eyes at his hand - two pair, tens over threes, and then looked around the table once more. Cookie’s cheeks flushed as he fiddled with his cards, and Miles deduced that he’d a good hand, possibly better than two pairs. Matt’s jaw ticked, and he tilted his head to one side, telling Miles that he didn’t have much, maybe a pair if anything. Then, he swung his gaze to Nick, who could only snort at his hand, which translated to his never-ending streak of poor cards the whole evening. 

Looking back at his two pair, Miles flicked his cards, and then picked up chips, throwing them in. “I’ll call.”

With a sigh, Nick slapped his cards face down on the table and pushed his chair back. “I fookin’ fold,” he grinned. Trust Nick to continue to smile through any storm. He ambled up from his chair and crossed to the fridge, in search of another beer.

Matt snorted and threw his chips in, and Cookie followed suit. “Let’s see ‘em,” the guitarist chirped, laying down his hand.

Just as Miles suspected, Cookie had a mittful of threes, beating him out. Matt swore sharply and tossed his cards down onto the chips - one measly pair of eights, nothing to write home about. Once again triumphant, Cookie chuckled and swept the pile of chips towards him, watching as Nick sank back into his chair.

“Need a loan, love?” he sang, letting his chips fall between his fingers.

“Gonna hafta sell a kidney, I’m so far behind,” Nick laughed. He shook his head, though, and sipped his beer. “I’m good. I’ll probably finish this and call it a night, yeah?”

There was a chorus of agreement - it was getting late into the evening, and so the cards were tucked away, chips were stacked (as they weren’t really playing for cash, though Cookie once more reiterated that perhaps they could the next time, which earned him many two-fingered salutes), and the last of the beers were drained. One by one the rest of the group exited the kitchen, making their way to the guest rooms in Alex’s LA home, where they were staying for the next week. They said their goodnights to Miles, who was the last man standing - or sitting, in this case - at the table, his cigar still lit, whiskey still cold.

He quickly dealt a hand of solitaire, and got lost in the shuffle, when he heard someone pad into the kitchen. He looked up and smiled warmly. “Thought you’d gone to sleep.”

Alex smiled back and opened the fridge, found a beer, and popped the top off before tossing it into the sink. He slid into the chair that Cookie had occupied all night, and he glanced at the table where Miles’ cards were lain out. “Joost readin’,” he shrugged. “Who won?”

Miles snorted. “Cookie.”

Alex took a sip of his beer and nodded. “I take it Nick were broke before midnight?”

“Practically,” Miles laughed. “How come you didn’t want to play?”

Alex’s mouth quirked into a funny line and he glanced about the kitchen. “Eh...not really...I mean...I’m not...I don’t really like cards.”

“Sack it, laa, you like em’ well enough. I mean, you always hand me my arse when we’re playin’ canasta. You can’t be that bad - certainly not as bad as Nick.”

Alex tilted his head back and forth, mulling over Miles’ observation. “Joost didn’t feel like it, then,” he answered cryptically.

An idea snuck into Miles’ head. He flashed a playful grin at Alex and then picked up his cards, and shuffled them back into the deck. “Wanna play now? You an’ me, yeah?” He tucked his cigar into the corner of his mouth and effected a sly grin. “Come on, I’ll take it easy on ya.”

The older lad seemed to consider this for a spell, and then he looked at the caddy holding the chips. “Want me to divvie these up then?” He gave the caddy a spin for good measure.

“Nah,” Miles replied smoothly. “Got somethin’ else in mind.”

“Oh?” Alex leaned forward, intrigued with Miles’ tone. “An’ wot wold tha’ be?”

“Strip poker,” Miles announced, eyes gleaming.

Alex snorted and glanced down at his beer. “Come off it, Mi. Don’t need a card game to get me clothes off, yeah? If wanna get me naked, joost ask.”

Miles would not be dissuaded. “Think I don’t know that, laa?” He arched an eyebrow at Alex, daring him to say different.

It was an argument Alex couldn’t win. Still, Miles’ idea intrigued him, and so he shrugged loosely, and gestured to the cards the Scouser was still shuffling. “Good thing I’m not in me unders, then, eh?”

Miles’ face brightened. “You’re in?”

“Aye, right, I’m in. What are the stakes?”

Miles slowly began dealing cards back and forth. “Five card draw - that’s one draw, best hand wins the round, obviously, an’ the loser loses an article of clothing. The person who’s completely starkers first has to do whatever the other person wants.”

“You sure about tha’?” Alex asked lightly, picking up his cards and leaning forward in his seat.

“You feelin’ cocky, Turner?” Miles asked lightly, turning his cards over.

“Not really,” Alex replied with another shrug.

“Right, then. How many cards?”

+

Miles looked at his hand, and then flicked his gaze to Alex. “You alright, there, love? Shall I turn up the thermostat?”

Alex shivered, shirtless as he was, and shook his head stubbornly. “M’fine.”

“Darlin’, don’t be stubborn - I’m certain your nipples could cut glass at this point.” Miles shook with mirth.

Immediately frowning, Alex glanced down and then ran a hand over his chest, snagging over said nipples. “Piss off. You’re not that far behind”

“Hmm, sorry, what was that? I didn’t hear you because I were too busy deciding on what I’m going to get you to do for me when I win.”

Alex made a face, and sighed in defeat. “I’m guessing this will be summat from your list?”

Miles winked. “Maybe I’ll be gentle with ya, laa, and pick somethin’ from yours, too?”

“You can’t have two-”

“Can’t I?” Miles dropped his hand on the table, a full house, jacks high, staring Alex in the face. “Unless you can beat that trio of knaves, I’d say I can do whatever I please. Those _were_ the stakes, Alex.”

Alex pursed his lips and set his cards face down on the table. He shot Miles a glare and then hooked his thumb into the sides of his boxers, hips already arching up from the chair, defeat apparent.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Miles purred, stubbing the last of his cigar out and pushing his chair back. He nodded his chin towards Alex and raised his eyebrow. “Not so fast, laa. I wanna see the show.”

With a sigh, Alex abruptly stood, and stepped back from the table. “Claiming your prize?” he murmured, pushing a hand back through his hair.

Miles’ tongue slid along his bottom lip as he eyed Alex up and down. It had been a test of patience all night, for certain, watching as Alex removed article after article of clothing. The socks had been first, a pair nicked from Miles’ drawer, if the bright purple paisley had been any indication, and that first glimpse of Alex’s toes had sent Miles’ head spinning. It wasn’t like he had a foot fetish or anything, but barefeet, to him at least, were always a sign of comfort, and relaxation in one’s environment.

And Alex had really cute toes.

Miles had lost his socks soon after, followed by Alex’s pants seeing their demise. That had been a show all in itself. Miles had always been of a mind that Alex would have ended up an English teacher had he not pursued music, but after Alex’s slow wind of sinewy hips and the showmanship put into the removal of his belt, Miles added ‘stripper’ to Alex’s list of possible alternate employment. After all, teachers were paid shite, and they had bills to pay.

Of course, Alex had sat down far too quickly, and the hem of his worn t shirt hung too low for Miles to really catch a glimpse of that flat expanse of lower belly - that swath of taut skin below his navel and encasing those narrow hips, the shadow of fine, dark hair disappearing under dark boxer briefs - or to bask in the glory of those leanly muscled thighs, encased in aforementioned briefs. Miles momentarily wondered if Alex was intentionally teasing him, but was quick to remember that it had been Miles who made the rules of the game, and that his slowly burning torture was his own machination. That in itself made watching Alex lose layer upon layer of clothing even more enjoyable.

Miles lost his own pants a hand later, and he didn’t miss the way Alex’s eyes glinted as they scraped over Miles, watching the Scouser wiggle out of jeans borrowed from Alex’s closet. He couldn’t help it, really - that was one of the best things about being friends with Alex: they swapped clothes constantly, much to their own amusement. And there was something gut-fluttering intimate about wearing Alex’s clothes that made Miles nerves stand up to attention. In truth, he loved the feeling of fabric that had once touched Alex now touching him, and he often lifted shirts and slacks without so much as Alex batting an eyelash. 

The older lad’s lips had parted slightly when he recognized the jeans snug on Miles’ hips - the Liverpudlian was a mite broader than Alex, and so everything always clung a little...obscenely. When Miles had pulled open the softly worn button fly, Alex had made a breathy sound in his throat, and the Northerner’s dark eyes settled on each centimeter of bright blue and black zebra print brief that was revealed. Alex’s tongue had scraped along his upper lip, and he’d actually _panted_.

It was almost a shame that Miles had continued to win hands after that display.

“Hardly,” Miles answered Alex’s question. “Just playin’ by the rules, laa.” He nodded at Alex to continue.

Squaring his shoulders, Alex dipped his chin down, and looked back at Miles from under his dark eyebrows. He blinked, long lashes sweeping his cheekbones, and he let his mouth move into the cocky sneer that made more than a few people swoon. Miles couldn’t help but lean closer, his eyes locked on Alex’s hands, willing them to tug the damn boxer briefs down.

“Look at you, you fookin’ tart,” Alex murmured, slipping his thumbs inside the waistband once more and running them along his skin. He inhaled sharply through his nose and sighed a bit, giving his hips a little twitch.

Miles lifted his gaze in warning. “You should talk. Take em’ off, Alex.”

Alex huffed, and with one thumb still hooked in his boxers, he swept his other hand up his chest, scraping his palm over his nipples and biting his lip against a full-blown moan. Still, the sound swelled in his throat, and he closed his eyes and dropped the hand at his waist down the front of his briefs. Encountering the semi-hard state of his cock, he hummed, and his grin turned down right rude.

“Come collect your winnins’, mate” Alex whispered, cracking his eyes open to gaze at the Scouser.

For his part, Miles remained silent, but he stood from the chair slowly, and watched Alex shiver, and step back until his naked shoulders were touching the stainless steel surface of the fridge. Miles deftly stalked across the floor, desire swelling as he watched Alex settle against the appliance, hand deftly moving beneath his boxers. He closed the distance between them, one hand flat on the fridge next to Alex’s head, the other tracing fingertips down Alex’s arm until he came to the waistband of Alex’s briefs. There, he waited, watching as Alex’s pupils spun wide, and his breath quickened.

“Think of this as your consolation prize,” Miles purred, letting his hand join Alex’s. Together they worked until Alex was cupping his balls, and Miles had taken over on the shaft, tightening his fingers until the shorter lad rose up on his toes. Leaning into Alex, he placed his lips next to the Northerner’s ear. “I’ll collect when it’s convenient.”

Alex chuckled, and the sound promptly dipped into a moan as Miles’s fingers slipped up and down his cock. The more Miles touched him, the heavier he felt, thick with arousal, almost drunk on it. Tears of pleasure pricked his eyes when Miles pushed his thumb over the tip of his cock, and smeared the first drops of excitement around.

“Coming second isn’t so bad, eh, laa?” Miles murmured, moving back to brush his lips over Alex’s. He grinned when Alex strained to deepen the kiss, and pulled away before he could do so.

“Fook, Mi,” Alex breathed, his hips pushing into Miles’ touch. “Keep this up, an’ I’ll be comin’ first, yeah?”

“I take it you liked being teased?” Miles asked lightly, his eyes flitting over Alex’s body, taking in the smooth musculature wrapped in soft, lightly tanned skin. “Or maybe you liked teasing me, hm?” Miles moved in again, teeth nipping Alex’s jaw, chin, tongue scraping over the stubble Alex had left for a few days.

“Yes,” Alex sighed as he settled his hands on Miles’ hips. “An’ _yes_ ,” he continued, answering both of Miles’ questions. He shifted when Miles did, and hooked an arm around the younger man’s neck, holding him in place for a moment while Miles stroked him firmly. “Fuck, Miles, I know you won, but you’ve the best hand right now.”

“An’ what a lovely pair we make,” Miles agreed, moving his hand from the fridge to frame Alex’s jaw and hold him in place. He kissed Alex swiftly, and wetly, and then moved again, thrilling at the sound of Alex’s desperate whine.

“Thassit, laa,” Miles softly encouraged, fingers pressing a firm path from Alex’s cheek, down his neck, over his collarbones, and across his torso, thumbs catching the hard peaks of Alex’s nipples and pausing to rub firm circles there. “Come on, Alex. Take em’ off for me.”

Alex gulped, and nodded, and left off his balls, hooking his thumbs back into the sides of his boxers. He pulled, twisting his hips and shifting until the fabric was free enough to slide down his legs.

Miles followed quickly after.

“Sh-sh... _shit_ , Mi...I thought this were a consolation prize,” Alex croaked, bringing a hand up to settle in Miles’ hair.

“It _is_ ,” Miles assured him. “Though...I enjoy your cock so much, Alexander, that I could happily take this as my winnings.” He stared up at Alex while his fist twisted at the base of Alex’s cock, and held it steady.

The sound of his full name on Miles’ lips made Alex whimper, and his head lolled back, smacking the fridge with a sound _thud_. He tightened his hold on Miles’ hair and pushed his hips forward, biting his lip at the feel of the Scouser’s hot breath sailing over him.

“Look at me, Alexander,” Miles uttered. He knew all too well what using his full name did to the older lad.

Christ, even on his knees, Miles had total control of the moment. Alex steeled himself and blinked down, breath catching at the sight. Miles smirked once, and then unfurled his tongue, licking a firm stripe up the underside of Alex’s cock, swirling along the tip before he pulled away with a hum. “Oh- _ooohhhh_ fuck..Mi,” Alex panted, tugging the Scouser forward.

Miles went, though he winced at the clutch of Alex’s fingers. As he savoured the sweet and salt taste of Alex, and worked his mouth over the smooth head, Miles’ brain was on overdrive, spurred by the sight above him, and those greedy fingers twisting his hair. He was going to have to do something about that neediness, Miles decided. The sudden gasp from above brought Miles back to the moment, and he managed to smile around Alex’s cock, and wink. He slurped obscenely, and pulled off for a moment, flicking his tongue against the head once more.

“Do you like your prize, laa?” Miles rasped.

“Fuck, yes,” Alex quickly replied, with another arch of his hips. The tip of his cock pushed against Miles’ full bottom lip.

“Say, ‘thank you,’ Alexander.” He licked Alex’s cock where it nudged his mouth, and then sucked firmly, coming away with another wet _pop_. “Say it, Alex.”

“Ah _fuck_! Thank you, Miles….oh, god, thank you, love. Thankyouthankyouthankyou.”

The compliance in Alex’s voice, stirred with desperation and garnished with a bit of begging, was a heady cocktail that worked into Miles’ veins. He returned to task, sucking firmly, working his tongue along in spiralling patterns, swallowing the tip when it lodged in his throat. His hands found Alex’s hips and shoved them back against the fridge hard enough to rattle the contents inside, and daring him to move with the bite of his fingernails.

Alex winced at the pinch on his hips, but he took the message and tried to hold still. Miles was ruthless, humming lowly and sending vibrations right up Alex’s dick, straight to the white-hot ball forming between his hips. Christ, Miles was lovely like this, the stark light of the kitchen catching the bulge of Alex’s cock in his cheek, soft hair falling over his eyes when Alex released his hold, and slowly placed his palms on either side of him, pressing them into the fridge. His surrender served Miles’ enthusiasm, and Alex wasn’t sure there was any inch of him left the Scouser’s mouth didn’t take, but somehow he went deeper still, and was reminded of Miles gasping for breath, eyes sparkling with trusting tears.

As if sensing this, Miles backed off again, his fist taking over for his hand, while his other cradled Alex’s balls, squeezing and pulling, while he stared up at Alex, watching the older man quickly come unraveled. The pulse in Alex’s cock was maddening, it matched the thread of Miles’ heart, and the throb in his own cock. But this was for Alex, this was all about Alex. Miles would take his in due course. He was merciless in his ministrations, setting a rough, fast pace that made his fist a blur as he squeezed and stroked Alex harder, faster, tongue flicking against the head with every other pass. With another sucking kiss, Miles groaned, finding more precome at the tip, and he huffed a breath against the firm flesh.

“You gonna come, aren't you? Yeah, I know when you’re about to blow, baby, I know all about it.” Miles’ tongue danced lewdly, gathering more spit and precome, letting it trail off the tip of his tongue as he jerked Alex faster.

“Yes,” Alex hissed through gritted teeth.

“Give it to me,” Miles snarled. “I want it, Alex, want your come. Give it to me.” He closed his mouth around the first few inches of Alex’s cock, and stroked madly with his hand, willing the older man to explode.

“Oh, fuck, Mi. Oh fuck, ohfuckohfuckfuckfuck...yes, babeh, fookin’ swallow me, yeah?” His diatribe was cut short by a series of quick, bursting pumps of his hips, narrowing, strangling, sparking, and then - _oh_ , and then he was “C-c-coming, oh fook, Mi, m’comin’!”

Miles knew this, of course, knew it almost a split second before the first burst of Alex’s release splashed across his tongue and was swallowed. He asked for it, and he got it, every drop of his lover’s hot load gloriously, furiously pumped down his throat. Above him, Alex tensed and howled, and he couldn’t help it when his fingers sank into Miles’ hair and tugged roughly, forcing more of his cock and more of his load into the Scouser’s waiting mouth. “Fuck, you fookin’ slag, get all of it,” Alex murmured, his limbs going numb.

Miles continued to suck, swallowing, and humming, working Alex over as he slowly softened until finally he pulled back, and placed a series of soft kisses at the tip of Alex’s cock. He loosened his grip on Alex’s hips, delighting in the half-moons pressed into his skin, and sat back on his heels, wiping his bottom lip with his thumb.

For a while they paused like that, Alex slumped against the refrigerator, sweat cooling on his chest and face, staring down at Miles who looked positively pleased with himself. They smiled softly at each other, catching their breath, and shared a knowing look.

Somewhere outside the kitchen, the floorboards creaked, snapping them out of their reverie. Alex moved first, groaning as his muscles protested, and he stooped to hold a hand out to Miles, who took it without question.

“Keep forgettin’ we’re not alone right now,” Alex murmured before he kissed Miles with care, and nuzzled his face into the Scouser’s cheek.

“Hmmm...s’nothin’ they’re not aware of,” Miles reminded him. He could feel Alex’s cheeks heat with his response. “Come on, then, yeah?” He slid a warm hand down Alex’s spine and gently molded his palm to the curve of Alex’s ass cheek. “Let’s to bed.”

Alex chuckled. “You’re really not gonna tell me when you’re claiming your prize, are ya?” He pulled away to gather his and Miles’ clothes and tucked them under one arm.

Miles shook his head and ensured his cigar was fully stubbed out, before hitting the lights and following Alex out of the kitchen towards the bedroom. “You’ll know when you know, laa.”  
Alex sighed, but smiled anyway. “You know I hate surprises,” he pointed out.

Miles winked and grabbed Alex’s bum once more, before smacking it soundly. “Exactly.”

+

On the other end of the kitchen, in the hallway leading to the guest bedrooms, Jamie blinked wide eyes as he held his breath. God, he’d almost been caught, and wouldn’t he have made a sight: leaning on the wall, jeans unbuttoned and pushed past his hips, cock in hand, stroking furiously. He’d come when Alex had, biting his tongue until he tasted copper, neck straining, his hand leaving off his nipple where he’d twisted ruthlessly to catch his come as it spurt from his cock. When the lights of the kitchen flicked, off, he released a sigh, and ambled into the darkened room to wash his hands.

He’d been headed towards the kitchen for a glass of water when he’d heard Alex’s soft voice floating about. Ducking just outside the doorway, he’d taken in the show of Alex and Miles seated around the table, Miles without pants, and Alex losing his shirt - quite figuratively and literally. Once glance at Miles was like looking in a mirror; he watched Alex with the same rapt attention that Jamie did. Only, something was amiss: Alex wasn't a shitty poker player.

In fact, he never lost.

Jamie had been smugly proud earlier, and secretly ecstatic when Alex hadn’t shown an interest in playing, and as he gaped at Alex throwing his hand down without even showing it, and standing at Miles’ command to drop his boxers, Jamie knew - he just _knew_ \- that Alex had thrown the game. He didn’t know Alex’s motives behind it, but he didn’t much care to speculate when he watched the Scouser prowl across the kitchen and pin Alex to the refrigerator.

After that, it had been a blur, a rough, sweaty, hot, positively nasty blur, wrought with grunts and sighs, and Jamie a wide-and-blue-eyed voyeur to it all. He tried to feel guilty. He tried to feel remorse, but the twinge in his balls even now as he scrubbed his hands made it difficult to feel anything beyond residual lust, and the blooming rush of desire.

When he’d finished with his hands and dried them, Jamie moved to the table and eyeballed Miles’ hand, still face up, and then swept his fingers over Alex’s cards, laid face down on the table.

“Forgot me smokes, laa,” Miles’ voice cut up from the hallway that led to Alex’s room

Before Jamie could move, the lights flicked on, and he looked up, finding himself face to face with the Scouser.

“Cookie,” Miles said slowly, a blush tingeing his cheeks.

“Miles,” Jamie grinned back. He nodded towards the table. “So...who won?” He grinned cheekily.

Miles paused and moved to the table, plucking his cigarettes from the table where he’d sat all night. He proudly tapped the full house. “Boys were on me side tonight.” Jamie’s mouth twisted wryly, and Miles’ grin faltered. “What?”

Jamie shrugged and turned Alex’s cards over, shaking his head as his suspicions were confirmed. “Sure they weren’t on Alex’s?”

Four kings stared back at them.

Miles blinked. “The fuck?” He looked up to Jamie for an explanation. When Jamie remained silent, Miles continued, “You guys said he were lousy at poker!”

Jamie shook his head. “We didn’t say he were lousy. We joost said he didn’t care for it.” He shrugged. “He always wins. He doesn’t see the fun in it.”

Miles sputtered and looked back at the cards, as if they’d somehow change. When they didn’t, he lifted his gaze back to Jamie. “Why the fuck would he throw a game, then?”

It was on the tip of Jamie’s tongue to remind Miles of the epic blow job he’d just bestowed upon Alex as a consolation prize, but that would give him away. Instead, he smiled and and lifted a shoulder. “Dunno. But...I think you may be able to work this to your advantage. And to mine?”

Miles cocked an eyebrow, thoroughly intrigued. “What did you have in mind?”


	6. Planting Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhhmmm...so this happened...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.
> 
> Title alludes to the notion that Jamie Cook was born in the Wirral, but moved to Sheffield when he was quite young. As a result, I've always wondered if 'Little Illusion Machine' was about someone other than Miles, and someone on tumblr suggested perhaps the song was about both of them. I don't apologize for anything here, especially the ending because I wanted to update but I also wanted to leave you all dying for the next chapter.

_“You guys said he were lousy at poker!”_

_Jamie shook his head. “We didn’t say he were lousy. We joost said he didn’t care for it.” He shrugged. “He always wins. He doesn’t see the fun in it.”_

_Miles sputtered and looked back at the cards, as if they’d somehow change. When they didn’t, he lifted his gaze back to Jamie. “Why the fuck would he throw a game, then?”_

_It was on the tip of Jamie’s tongue to remind Miles of the epic blow job he’d just bestowed upon Alex as a consolation prize, but that would give him away. Instead, he smiled and and lifted a shoulder. “Dunno. But...I think you may be able to work this to your advantage. And to mine?”_

_Miles cocked an eyebrow, thoroughly intrigued. “What did you have in mind?”_

+

Miles has to admit that this wasn’t exactly the _first_ thing that came to mind, but he’d be lying if he said he’d never entertained the thought. There’s always been something rather magnetic about Jamie Cook, something that has always drawn him in - now, whether or not it was the fact he was Wirral born, or something more complex, Miles isn’t sure, but whatever it is, it’s made him end up with the side of his face pressed into the couch cushion and Jamie riding his ass like he’s a custom built Triumph.

The broad palm of Jamie’s hand curling over his shoulder and hauling him up from the arm of the couch also hauls him from said thoughts, and Miles goes willingly, almost laughing at the absurdity of the situation - _almost_. The rather violent buck of Jamie’s hips shocks the hilarity from Miles’ system, and the Scouser has no choice but to groan complacently, and reach over his shoulder to clutch the sandy blond hair at the back of Jamie’s head.

“Christ above, Cookie...if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve had practice.”

Jamie’s reply is another grunt, and then a chuckle as Miles pauses, howls, and shudders. 

The hand that clutches Miles’ shoulder now slips down the sweat on his spine, and splays on a narrow hip, bringing Miles flush with his body. Jamie closes his teeth over the flesh at the back of Miles’ neck and growls, before palming both hips and pounding viciously into the Scouser with a heavy staccato beat. “Fink you’re the only one who’s had a go wiv Al?”

It’s enough to make Miles’ throat open gloriously, and he emits a string of sharp cries all in time with the guitarist at his back. Tears of fucked up pleasure prick his eyes, and his head swims at the thought of Jamie treating Alex like this.

Like a complete and utter _animal_.

It makes Miles’ cock throb painfully. He gasps, and asks, “This ‘ow you fucked Turner?"

A sharp dig of Jamie’s cock against his prostate makes Miles choke. "Yeah," Jamie huffs, closing his eyes at the impossibly hot squeeze of Miles' body. It’s close to Alex, but not quite the same. "Had that sexy lit'l fuck whinin', and wigglin' on the end of me cock." He scrapes a hand back and claps it against Miles’ firm buttock, and leans in close. “Tell me, Miles. Does Al fook you like this? Is he joost-” _thrust_ \- “like-” _thrust_ \- “this? _Unh_!”

Miles feels his belly drop to his toes as he squeezes his eyes shut with a grand litany of curse words, and the gut churning pleasure. “Fuck, Cookie, you’re a brute.”

Jamie hums with a rather sinister edge, and he pauses, hand sweeping round from Miles’ hip to strangle his cock until the Scouser shouts. “I’ll give you the bruises to prove it.” His other hand moves back up to cup Miles’ jaw, and he pulls the pretty face back with harsh fingers, hot breath huffing against Miles’ cheek. “You wanna get fooked, Kane? Hmm? You like gettin' fooked like I did Al?” He lets go of Miles abruptly and shoves the Scouser back to balance on his elbows, ass in the air, open, and taking Jamie’s cock like it never had a choice.

And really, it didn’t.

There was something on the air that night in the kitchen, mixed in with the scent of come and sweat and cigar smoke. Or maybe, those things only heightened it. Whatever the case, somehow, Cookie and Kane met on an uneven playing field, Miles the cocky son of a butcher who thought he knew it all, and Cookie, the silent jester, master manipulator, who showed Miles just what it meant to be fucked six ways from Sunday.

Rushing thoughts of Alex’s own rough hands and harsher words make Miles wonder if they’re not a direct result of this - of being at Jamie’s whim, and that brings a whole new level of arousal coursing through Miles’ veins.

“Wanna - oh, _fuck_ Cookie, yes, right there, Jesus Christ, you’re... _ah_!” Miles is cut off mid thought as Jamie slows his pace and spins his hips up, elliptical thrusts taking over for the brutal pounding he’d dealt only seconds before. Miles’ molars crash together; he’s quite certain that Jamie can’t get any deeper, but then those wide, footballer hands are folding into his hips and pulling him back, stilling Miles’ body in the process.

“You wanna what? C’mon, you fookin’ Scouser, you wanna what? Hmm? Tell me all about it, Miles. Tell me all about the dirty things you want.” Jamie twists his hips and delivers another sharp thrust, and Miles reaction makes him go cross-eyed.

“Wanna watch you,” Miles wheezes, fingers clawing at the couch cushions for some kind of traction to push back and get more of Jamie’s cock. God, he’s got a magnificent cock, thicker than Al, just as long, and he’s split quite gloriously on it. Honestly, he doesn’t know why Al would give up a cock like Jamie’s. 

Miles groans thickly and snaps his hips back against Jamie, making the blond grunt, and put a stilling hand on Miles’ back. “Wanna watch you fuck ‘im, Cookie," Miles begs, blood roaring in his ears, Jamie's fingers digging into his hips. As his vision bursts with color, and the white noise in his head takes over, he hears himself sigh, "Wanna watch you tear him apart.”

+

It’s a week later when a plan is set into motion. Between post-coital cigarettes, a shower (which led to another round that surprised Miles more than the first one - who knew Jamie was so gifted at sucking cock), and coffee, they’ve pieced together a rough outline of how things should go. As they don’t have Alex’s consent on the matter of a threesome (even though it’s written in at _number six_ on Alex’s growing list, and then scratched out, and then written out again), they’re not about surprise - the two of them pouncing on Alex at any given moment is grounds for disaster. Alex doesn’t like surprises. But that doesn’t mean he can’t be...persuaded. 

_Number eight_ on Miles’ list is being a voyeur - that is, to be specific, watching another person with Alex. Said other person could be male or female, Miles finds both options rather appealing, but now that Jamie’s more or less volunteered (or, been volun- _told_ ), the idea is thrilling to Miles as he daydreams about the outcome. How would Jamie do it? Would he be the same hands-on, forward, brash bastard that he’d been with Miles? Or would be put a little finesse into it? The fact that Alex and Jamie have a history tells Miles that there is a habit, a ritual, _something_ that brought the two of them together that handful of times during their late _Humbug_ and early _Suck It and See_ days. Of course Miles is curious, but he’s not about to ask point blank what Jamie’s secret was...is...whatever. That’s part of the fun of being a voyeur: everyone was in for a treat.

They set a tentative date for the Saturday, as they’ve planned on having a small get together to open Alex’s pool for the summer (not that he closed it during the other seasons, but it was something to get excited about at any rate) - a handful of friends, some beers, some barbecue, and just a relaxed state of mind. Liquor has always been a social lubricant for Alex, both Jamie and Miles are painfully aware of this. They don’t want him drunk, but they do want for him to perhaps sweep his inhibitions under the welcome mat for the evening.

+

As Alex flips burgers on the grill, he becomes keenly aware of two things. Well, really, it’s one thing, but from two different sources.

First and foremost, Miles is stealing glances, which isn’t a big deal. Miles is _always_ stealing glances, the flirty little tart, but instead of moving his gaze away when Alex catches him, and letting his mouth curl into that secret smile he reserves just for Alex, Miles continues to stare, and looks as though he’s processing some sort of internal debate. Then, those hazel eyes flick away, and when Alex follows their line of sight, he finds, much to his surprise, that Miles is looking at Jamie.

And Jamie is looking directly at Alex.

That’s the second thing he becomes aware of. Both Miles _and_ Jamie are staring at him, and he’s not certain _why_ , but he’s not exactly uncomfortable with being the object of their interest for the afternoon. As previously stated, Miles staring isn’t that big a concern. But Jamie?

It’s been a long time since Jamie has looked at him like _that_.

For a moment, Alex tries to ignore what it does to him and concentrates on edging the flipper under another burger and turning it with precision, but it’s _there_ , in the back of his mind, that wonderful little drop his belly does when it comes to Jamie. Jamie’s always been his dirty little secret, and for a time in their younger years, they brawled and fucked, fucked and brawled, and it seemed like the two were interchangeable. Alex still has a slight indent on his hip from where Jamie’s teeth dug in one night in Texas, and he’s certain that Jamie sports a gouge under his shoulder blade from where Alex clung with enthusiasm.

They never really did heal from one another.

Alex dares to steal another quick glance towards Jamie, and his cheeks heat when those bright blue eyes meet his gaze. The blond’s smile is evident even behind the beer bottle pressed to his lips, and then he’s looking away, chatting with Matt about something, but doing that thing that Alex loves - that bashful dip of his head, the hand smoothing over his hair, the glance up from under his eyebrows.

It’s all a fucking show - Jamie Cook is the least bashful person he knows.

“Don’t get burned,” a familiar voice reminds him.

Alex snaps his eyes around and startles visibly at the fact that Miles has just magically appeared beside him.

“Jesus, Mi,” he breathes. “Don’t fookin’ sneak up on me like tha’.”

“You should be watching what you’re doin’ an’ not gawkin’ over there...what’s caught your interest?” 

Miles’ tone is teasing, and Alex shifts under his gaze and stares at the burgers on the grill. “Nowt,” he growls. “It’s nowt.”

Miles grins at Alex’s discomfort, and he leans around Alex and glances up to where Jamie’s standing, watching the pair interact next to the grill. “You sure about that?” Miles asks softly. “You makin’ eyes at Jamie, baby?” Miles watches for Alex’s reaction.

It comes in a rush of blood to the cheeks, and Alex furiously shaking his head. The fake little laugh comes next. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ bout, Mi,” Alex sighs. “M’cookin’. This takes concentration, you know.”

Miles hums and briefly touches Alex’s wrist, causing the older lad to look his way again. “Have you...you know,” Miles began softly, trailing his fingertips around to Alex’s pulse, stroking the thin skin there. “Thought about it? About doing it again? With Jamie?”

Alex blinks owlishly and his mouth opens with a huff. “Jesus _Christ_ , Miles, you’re askin’ me that _here_? Right fookin’ _now_?” He gestured at the burgers sizzling on the grill in emphasis.

Miles shrugs off Alex’s fluster, and just keeps prodding. “I’m curious, I suppose, what all the fuss is about? I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t interested in the...details…” Miles draws out the last word with a quirk of his eyebrow, his fingers settling on Alex’s pulse. He feels it flutter and speed up, and Miles leans just a fraction closer, dropping his voice to just above a whisper against Alex’s ear. “Did he fuck ya hard, baby?”

Alex stares at the brick facade of the house that’s just behind the lid of the grill, and he’s keenly aware of the flex of Miles’ fingers along his wrist, and the weight and heat of Miles’ question thuds in his chest, and in his groin. He exhales sharply. “Miles,” he gasps, finally cutting his gaze back to the Scouser. “What has gotten into you?”

“Cookie,” Miles grins. “Cookie has gotten into me - he’s very good at tha’, innit he, love? Wanna see the bruises?”

Alex’s eyelashes flutter and he takes a step back from the grill, feeling the ground beneath his feet shift. “Miles?” he asks very softly, looking at the lad in question.

Miles’ mouth quirks smugly. “I wanna watch.”

“Watch what,” Alex mutters flatly, already knowing where this is going.

“You an’ Cookie.”

Alex’s eyes slip closed and he struggles just to breathe for a moment. “Oh,” he gulps. “That’s...that’s it?” His voice is thin, as is the air surrounding him, and he’s beginning to get a little lightheaded at the images his subconscious suddenly starts bombarding him with. 

“And then I want to join in.”

_Ladies and gentlemen, we have just lost cabin pressure._

“Fook,” Alex says thickly.

“Think about it,” Miles replies breezily, glancing back down to the grill. “You should turn those over, laa.” His fingers leave off Alex’s pulse and he claps a too-friendly hand on his shoulder before moving away back to the guests, and finding another drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't get your knickers all in a bunch, I'll continue...


	7. Swinging From Room to Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Alex contemplates Miles' actions, and shuffles cards most relentlessly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All recognizable elements are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.
> 
> Okay...so...Jamilex. There's things I could have done here, like shied away from certain kinks, but isn't that the point of this torrid affair? So here's some voyeurism, some threesome action, and some anilingus. Yes. There is tongue-and-butt stuff here. Rim jobs abound. Ass play eventually. Look, it's all very NSFW. Heed tags and warnings. If you're squeamish, you can probably just skip over this chapter and go right to the next, but I don't want to hear about how gross you think it is.

Alex blinks at the brick facade once more. _What the fook just happened?_ Had Miles actually...with...with _Cookie_? He’s not sure how he feels about it, and he backs away from the grill, deposits the spatula into Matt’s hand with an uttered, “Take over, mate,” and then he’s crossing the pool deck

“We need to talk,” Alex mutters tightly, wrapping his fingers around Miles’ elbow. “ _Now_.” He tugs Miles once, and though it’s not exactly rough, it makes Miles pause where he’s pressing his glass to his lips and he nods. Alex looks to the handful of guests that Miles was speaking with. “Excuse us. Sorry,” he smiles blandly, nodding as they exit.

To anyone watching, it looks as though they’re walking side by side, in step, a pair of lovebirds finally at ease with their affection, but Alex’s fingers squeeze a little harder to steer Miles into the house, through the kitchen, back towards their bedroom.

“Fink you’re smooth, eh?” Alex growls, kicking the door shut behind them.

Miles whirls around and opens his mouth, but Alex’s gaze makes him think better of it.

“Fink you’re playin’ some game, here, Mi? Hmm?”

“No,” Miles firmly replies. “I don’t think it’s a game, Alex.”

“Did you fink I wouldn’t care?”

Again, Miles can only blink, and watch as Alex’s shoulders rise and fall with his heaving breath.

“Fookin’ say summat, Miles.”

“I’m...I’m sorry.”

The way Miles had flaunted his extra-curricular activities, however, makes Alex think otherwise. He quirks an eyebrow and tilts his head at Miles, the corner of his mouth going up. “Are you? Are you really sorry, Miles, that you went a round or three wiv Cookie?”

There’s something in Alex’s voice that makes Miles’ breath catch, and he’s suddenly not sure if he should be feeling remorse, or the beginning stages of arousal. The thing that he is feeling seems like some sort of sick combination of the two, and he’s uncertain, and anxious. 

Alex’s tongue slips over his top lip in contemplation, and his smile turns deviant. “He’s good, yeah?” The walk from the pool to the bedroom was short, but in that time Alex had managed to arrange his thoughts into something dark red, and pulsing. While he’s not thrilled with the fact Miles has been fucked by Jamie without his knowing, he’d be lying if he insisted the idea didn’t thrill him at least a little bit. He takes a step towards Miles, and Miles instinctively moves back, recognizing the predatory shadow that descends on Alex’s strong features. It’s best he doesn’t stand his ground, his gut tells him. That’s not what Alex wants or needs at this point. 

“Fookin’ brute if I ever knew one,” Alex continues, taking step after step until he’s crowded Miles against the wall between the doorframe and the tallboy dresser where Alex keeps his jeans and t shirts. “But that’s what my good boy likes, eh?”

“Ah...Al-”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ve earned the right to call me that, lad,” Alex interrupts. “Try again? My good boy likes to get railed, doesn’t he?”

The sound of smug satisfaction is evident in Alex’s tone, and it makes Miles’ cheeks burn with shame-tinged lust. “Y-yes, Sir.”

Alex nods gently, and his hand tucks into the front of Miles’ shirt, slipping the buttons open at the throat and pulling the sides apart until he’s exposed to his sternum. Narrowing his gaze, his palm slides up Miles’ skin, leaving a trembling wake of flesh, and he cups Miles’ jaw and turns his head first to one side, and then to the other. There’s a bite mark on Miles’ collarbone, rough and reddened from the scrape of Jamie’s coarse stubble, and what looks to be fingertip-shaped bruises on one delicate shoulder.

Alex leans a little closer, and smiles at the way Miles’ breath catches. “You’re such a nasty little slut,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing over the bitemark. He can see Miles’ pulse jumping under the skin. “He were good, weren’t he? Felt good? Poundin’ away at your tight little arse?”

Miles can only croak, his lashes fluttering as he angles his head up so Alex can continue with his inspection.

“I know, lad, I know,” Alex softly replies. And he does - he knows all too well what it’s like to be fucked by Cookie, to be put in that situation and literally used and abused. It’s a heady rush, and Cookie’s good at what he does, but it won’t ever compare to what Alex and Miles have.

Alex’s reply is anything but reassuring, and Miles is starting to think that he was perhaps rather hasty in taking Jamie up on his offer, and all the things it entailed, without thinking there’d be repercussion.

“You wanna watch Cookie fuck me?” Alex lightly asks, already knowing the answer. His fingers slip down from Miles’ jaw and pause at his throat, squeezing very faintly in reminder, before it moves further down, tugging the last few buttons of Miles’ shirt open, fingers hooking into the front of Miles’ jeans.

Miles nods, sweat beading on his forehead as Alex puts voice to Miles’ fantasy.

“Can’t hear your head nod, lad,” Alex reminds him.

“Yes, Sir,” Miles gasps. His hips gently tilt with Alex’s persuasion.

“That what you want for winnin’ your lit’l game o’poker? Hmm?”

Miles swallows back the urge to blurt out that he knows Alex threw the game. At this point it seems like such a petty thing, and he’s certain that no matter how this goes down, he’s going to end up losing in some respect. But he still whispers, “Yes, Sir,” in reply to Alex’s question.

“Then that’s what my good boy will get, won’t he?”

There’s a sting to Alex’s words, and Miles knows without a doubt he’s going to get everything he wants, and everything he deserves.

+

Jamie announced his arrival by way of polite knock, and when he’d gained entrance, his mouth had lifted in a soft smile directed at both of them, and a strong, reassuring hand on Alex’s shoulder coupled with a gentle, “Are you sure?” Alex slid his gaze to Miles, and then back to Jamie, and nodded firmly. Jamie didn’t waste time and slowly began tugging Alex free of his clothing, that same strong hand slipping from Alex’s shoulder to touch every inch of exposed skin, muscle, hair, nerves, sweat, all of it.

Miles then watched, transfixed, as Jamie murmured against Alex’s neck, hands sliding Alex’s boxer briefs down over his bum, pausing to remember the firmness of them, and the shape, squeezing none-too-gently and landing a sharp slap on the flesh that echoed in the otherwise silent room. But that spot under Alex’s ass cheek, the one that made him dance up on his toes when stroked and teased, went untouched, and Miles wondered if Jamie knew about it, and was intentionally avoiding it, or was unawares altogether. Regardless, the anticipation was thick on the air, made palatable that all three of them were feeling it some degree. Miles didn’t dare look away.

With a purely innocent look touching his features, Alex led Jamie by the hand closer to Miles, turning so that the Scouser had a view of their profiles. Alex dropped to his knees next, his chin scraping along Jamie’s belly as his hands quickly unbuckled the belt on the blond’s jeans, and then tugged the zipper down. Jamie’s chest rose with a caught breath, and Miles found himself doing the same. He was fascinated with the sight of Alex’s mouth full of Jamie’s cock, and Jamie’s hands full of Alex’s hair; every time Alex’s gaze slipped sideways and caught Miles’ stare, there was a twinkle in those dark irises, and Miles swore he could see a smile on Alex’s lips, stretched round Jamie’s root as they were.

A few choice words were uttered by Jamie as he narrowed his blue gaze down at Alex, who only moaned a muffled reply, and nodded. Miles’ head spun as Jamie hauled Alex up from the carpet and arranged him on all fours on the bed to face the Scouser. He reared up behind Alex, rubbing his palm up the dark-eyed lad’s spine, sliding it back down, drawing a moan from Alex, and making him visibly melt to his elbows, ass rising.

The fact that Miles could only see Jamie’s gaze levelled at him from over the firm rise of Alex’s ass cheeks, combined with the sudden, high-pitched moan that tore from Alex’s lungs, could only mean one thing - 

“Oh, _Christ_ , Cookie, you’re fookin’ _nasty_ ,” Alex panted, his cheeks flushed. He wiggled, causing Jamie to hum and slide the flat of his tongue over Alex’s hole once more. Curling his fingers into the bedding, Alex raised his head and breathed heavily, watching Miles as Jamie teased and licked. Each stroke of Jamie’s tongue, every flick and thrust made a maddening stab of lust churn in Alex’s belly, made his balls ache with need. He’d forgotten how good Jamie was, the types of things Jamie would do without hesitation, and Alex’s eyes went dazed as he continued to stare at Miles while he panted and whimpered helplessly.

Miles looked stunned, and in the very best way. Wide, hazel eyes were sparkling with lust and curiosity, and his mouth hung open, breath heaving. He gave the pair on the bed his undivided attention, and his fingers scrabbled and strained where they were pressed to the wall, much like Alex’s had been pressed the fridge only a handful of days ago. The sound of Jamie spitting was followed by another ragged moan, but it came from Miles, and it snapped Alex’s attention right back to the Scouser, even as Jamie continued to tease. Alex smirked as he watched Miles’ cock throb, and actually bounce, clear drops of precome welling at the head.

“Oh, I’m the nasty one, eh?” Jamie breathed, pulling away from Alex with a groan. He slapped Alex's ass for good measure, grinning as the younger lad yelped. “You watchin Miles watchin’ you gettin’ licked by me? Look at him, he can’t look away, can’t get enough.” Tucking his fingers into Alex’s hair, Jamie pulled Alex up to balance on his knees, making the younger lad’s cock jut out in much the same way Miles’ was. Jamie hummed, nose pressed against Alex’s neck as he slid his hand around to circle the base of Alex’s cock. “What do you say we get closer, hmm? Really give him summat to watch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I still have friends? I'm away for the next week or so, so I probably won't have anything posted until mid-next week. Hopefully this will tide you over :)


	8. I Tried It and I Liked It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Alex deals the hands, and three knaves beats four kings. Waxing poetic about ocean waves and non-conventional romances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.I'm kind surprised this went so well - it's surprisingly hard making things work with three cocks in the mix. I shamelessly borrowed a line from SapphireSue; if you haven't read her Jamex I highly recommend it. She gave me the courage to post my own :) For REALS this time, I'm finished with Jamilex for now, and I won't have anything up for the next week at least - I've got family visiting. So, I dunno, read this a few times, but not at work, or at school, or at family gatherings, or whatever. NSFW an' all that. :)

Torture.

That’s what this is.

Complete and utter torture. Gut wrenching, sweating, ball-clenching, dick-throbbing, arse-twitching torture.

And Alex is taking far too much pleasure in it. Though, Miles has to admit that he more or less asked for it. He daren’t move from where he stands; he couldn’t if he really wanted to anyway: Alex’s dark eyes have riveted him to his spot against the wall, the one he hasn’t moved from save for when Alex bade him strip, only to promptly return with his back pressed there against the cool plaster.

It’s a stark contrast to the heat coming from Alex’s skin, scant inches away, and the hot huff and sigh from deep within Alex’s lungs that sails over Miles’ neck and chest, set to course by Jamie’s slow, grinding thrusts.

Miles had said he wanted to watch, and now he’s got front row seats - hell, he’s practically a participating audience member, but with one simple rule: no touching.

No touching Alex, no touching Jamie, and certainly no touching himself.

His cock is an angry red, impossibly hard, leaking and twitching, and every time Jamie digs into Alex, Alex groans, and leans forward, hands braced on the wall on either side of Miles’ shoulders, Alex’s dick just barely brushing against Miles’. It’s enough to make Miles whimper, but when his eyes slip shut, and tears fall from his lashes, it’s a short-lived relief.

“Look at me, Miles,” Alex pants.

So Miles looks at him, and loses his footing in those coltish eyes, dark and endless. He gets caught in the shape of Alex’s mouth as he moans for Jamie, tangled up in the way Alex’s sweat-darkened hair sticks to the side of his face, and feels his own demise slowly approach as Alex swallows a gasp. 

Alex’s rounded shoulder muscles tense as he pushes back against Jamie, a long, hot moan swelling out of his throat and working its way through Miles’ senses until it pulses in the Scouser’s cock. When Alex’s head drops down with a sharp cry, Miles blinks his vision into focus and finds Jamie staring back from over Alex’s shoulder, his blue gaze bright, and sharp, his top lip curling as he thrusts into Alex again.

“Ohhhh, f-fuck, Mi, yeah, he’s good,” Alex gulps. “He’s real good. Good as I remembered, maybe even better. Fucks me so well I can’t think straight.” Alex’s praise floats up around them from where he still gasps with his head down, eyes transfixed as Jamie curls a hand around his cock and thrusts anew, effectively tapping the head of Miles’ cock with Alex’s.

Alex and Miles both yelp at the electricity that surges between them.

“You two are just gaggin’ for it, aren’t ya,” Jamie breathes. Just to be a dick, he repeats the process.

Alex bucks back and growls, " _Fuck_ ," as his fingers slip down the wall.

“Quit your bitchin’ Al,” Jamie mutters. His hand comes down on Alex’s shoulder and pulls up as his other hand, and his hips, push Alex’s lower body forward, causing Miles’ and Alex’s pelvises to collide. “There we are,” Jamie purrs cheekily. “Now we can all play nice.” His hips take up a quick, shallow rhythm, forcing Alex’s cock grind into Miles’, and giving Alex no choice but to shout hoarsely with his face pressed into Miles’ neck. Before either of them have time to adjust, a strong hand closes around both cocks, gripping firmly, stroking and squeezing in time with the thrust of Jamie’s hips. 

It’s Miles who grits out, “Cookie,” and Alex who keens softly, and then swears, his hands turned to vices as they close on Miles’ biceps. He lifts his head up, staring into Miles’ eyes, a hollow shock of pleasure thrumming in his body as Jamie’s callused palm scrapes up the side of his dick, twists, and then squeezes back down on Miles. 

Jamie grins as they harmonize. He’s always been a big fan of that, the way Miles’ threading voice pitches so well with the way Alex’s rolls and swells, but hearing them like this is almost too much. He’d been surprised to find Miles and Alex in the position they were in when he’d walked in the room - Miles cornered against the wall, and Alex the one doing the cornering. It seemed as though perhaps Miles’ vision had backfired - when they’d talked, the idea of using Alex like a sextoy between he and Miles had piqued Jamie’s interest, but the tables have turned, and now it's clear as that Jamie is the one being dangled in front of Miles like a shiny new toy.

Alex has always has a sharp streak of cruelty beneath the softness and the silence, and Jamie had even been on the receiving end of it a scant handful of times, but not to the degree in which he administers it with Miles. Whereas Jamie has a heavy hand, Alex has a heavy mind, and he uses words to his advantage, twisting things into a vision conjured in the listener’s mind. Jamie knows Alex has given both he and Miles the illusion of submission, but it’s plainly obvious that Alex is the one in control. His body demands more of Jamie in the way his hips rock back, and it demands more of Miles as he leans forward, the Scouser’s name uttered hot, and hoarse.

Pressed between Cookie and Miles, Alex feels close to completion, but the hard, less-than-graceful pumping of Jamie’s fist is throwing him off, and every scrape of callus serves to pull Alex back from the edge of his climax, and start the ball of white heat rolling again. It goes around his hips, down to his ass where Jamie ploughs him deep, and fast, the broad head of his cock thudding against his prostate and making him see stars. The heat flashes down the backs of his thighs to his toes where they grip the floor, and then it rounds to the front of his legs, up his quads, blasting over his pelvis, culminating in his belly, before spreading up his chest and out to his hands. Miles isn’t far off, either, but Alex wants to give him something he can sink his teeth into, a reward for being such a good sport.

Glancing left Alex spies the lube that Jamie tossed upon the dresser after he prepped him, and holding himself up with one hand, he reaches for it now. Miles’ response is a thick moan, trailing off with a “oh fuck, oh fuck, ohfuckohfuckohfuck - _ohhh_!” as the slippery substance pours over both their cocks, and Jamie’s fingers, making everything warm, and slick. Alex watches Miles as he drops his hand over Jamie’s, the sight of the Scouser’s face screwed up and glazed with sweat a gorgeous representation of his frustration, and mounting arousal.

“Leave off, Jamie,” Alex breathes, glancing quickly over his shoulder. He gives the blond a reassuring grin, and has to bite the inside of his cheek against the bereft moan he wants to heave when Jamie follows orders. Miles doesn’t hold back, and it’s a desperate, wanton sound that brings Alex’s attention back, his bottom lip jutting out in a mocking pout.

“What’s the matter, baby? Hmm? You feelin’ left out?”

Miles keens, and nods his head. “Yes,” he gasps, eyes squeezing shut as Alex’s hand slips around Miles’ balls, down, and then back to stroke the thin, hyper-sensitive skin between sac and arse. “Oh, fuck, yes, Sir.”

Alex hums, and doesn’t miss the stutter of Jamie’s hips, and the breathy gasp that follows, when Miles calls Alex ‘Sir’. “Hurts, don’t it? Not being asked. Not bein’ included.” There’s a shimmer of emotion in Alex’s question, and it’s enough to make Miles’ eyes open wide with realization.

“Ah...Alex,” Miles whispers, shaking his head as Alex’s mouth curls into a delicate sneer, the palm of his hand holding Miles’ balls against his body as his fingers continue their maddening stroke. “Please, Alex, oh, _shit_ , m’sorry. I’m sorry, please just...I…” Miles trails off, mumbling something at the end.

Alex is fairly certain he knows what Miles said: the tears of agonized lust that shine at the crease by those hazel eyes tells him enough, but he wants to hear him say it, say all the things he needs to hear, to put his mind at ease, and give some relief. He slips his fingers further back, pressing against Miles’ entrance until Miles’ body complies, and Alex can touch him inside.

Miles sucks in a gasp and freezes, tongue between his teeth and blood roaring in his ears. He’s fairly certain he’s on the verge of passing out; his chest heaves with short breaths and the scorching blasts of pleasure make him feel lightheaded. Alex must sense this, at least a little bit, because as he pushes a finger deep, and strokes Miles, his teeth come down on Miles’ collarbone, scoring over Jamie’s mark, and then biting quick, and sharp. It snaps Miles back from the brink and he groans, and finds himself with a handful of Alex’s thick, dark hair.

“Al-Alex,” Miles stutters.

“Thassright,” Alex murmurs, lips soothing the burn before he lifts his head to meet Miles’ gaze. “That says ‘Alex’, don’t it?”

“Yes,” Miles answers quickly, his hips wiggling under Alex’s searching touch.

Alex nods and slips his finger from Miles, only to return with two, forcing a gut-deep moan from the taller lad. “Good boy,” he whispers, establishing a rhythm. Jamie has stilled for the most part, merely giving small bursts of his hips, as he flexes his fingers on Alex’s hips, waiting to see what will happen.

What comes next is a bit of a surprise, but a welcome one nonetheless.

Miles is pliant in Alex’s hands, allowing himself to be breached, and arranged, to the Northerner’s liking. The hand not teasing Miles open hooks behind his left knee, and with a roughly whispered, “Hold ‘im, Jamie,” the blond complies, and pulls Miles’ right knee up, and back. Miles tilts his head back and lets himself be consumed as he utters a mantra combined of the words ‘yes’, ‘more’, ‘please’, ‘Alex’, ‘god’, ‘Cookie’, ‘need’, and ‘take’.

Alex shushes him, feeling a ripple of pleasure and pride go through him when Miles manages to focus on his face and whisper, “Take it, Sir. Please, use me.” Miles’ words tumble out of their own accord, and they echo around him, and once more Alex murmurs his praise.

“Thank you, baby,” is Alex’s reply before he pushes the tip of his cock into Miles.

Miles swallows a groan, and clutches Alex’s shoulder with one hand, the other still twisted into Alex’s hair. A thick, burning rush of sensation, and emotion, swells around him, threatening to consume him. Once Alex bottoms out with a deep groan he stills, his forehead pressed to Miles’ jaw, a hand floating down the lean chest to curl about the base of Scouser’s cock. He squeezes in warning, knowing how close Miles is to coming, and Miles takes a shaky breath, and then another, releasing each one slowly.

The Scouser is pinned to the wall by one of Jamie’s hands under a knee, Alex’s under the other, and his body skewered on Alex’s beautiful cock.

“Are you ready, babeh?” Alex murmurs to Miles, bringing his head up so he can look into Miles’ eyes.

Miles chuckles, defeated, and sighs. “No,” he grins, but it’s defeated, too. “But I know you’re gonna do it anyway.”

Alex winks, and purses his lips. “Fuck me, Jameh,” he rasps, glancing back over his shoulder for a moment. He meets Jamie’s blue gaze. “Fuck both of us.”

The blond groans, and shudders, causing Alex and Miles to revel in the aftershock. Jamie is well under Alex’s spell by now, always has been, and he doesn’t hesitate to roll his hips, pounding into Alex, who in turn drives up into Miles. Three-part harmony is hard to achieve, but they manage beautifully. After a few moments they find a beat they can all appreciate, made obvious by the various moans, and grunts, and whimpers floating up around them.

Caught between Jamie’s teasing thrusts against that spot deep within, and the way Miles is tightening up into a scorching, slick sleeve, Alex is helpless, and can only stare at Miles as he feels the first waves of a mind-bending orgasm take control of him. Jamie's lust boils over with a snarl, and the guitarist hammers into Alex so hard that the smaller man is forced to his toes. In turn, it drives Alex’s cock deep into Miles, who is boneless, mindless, used and fucked and made into a quivering, sweating, aching thing that can only groan his immense pleasure.

“Come on, you little fucker, fookin’ come,” Jamie whispers harshly, his eyes squeezing shut as Alex heeds his urgency, and begins to tighten. “Oh, god, that’s it, Al, fookin’ come, make ‘im take it.” It’s a heady rush, the position Jamie is in, used in every sense, almost an outsider with the way Alex and Miles look at each other. He seeks his own orgasm instead, knowing that the quick pump of his hips will surely trigger Alex’s; the blast of come in Miles’ ass will definitely trigger his, and wouldn’t that be a treat? All three of them imploding at the exact same moment. It gives Jamie more than enough reason to growl and put more bruises to Alex’s hip, and his thumb presses into Miles’ knee where he grips him.

Alex’s grin melts onto his face, pleasure churning madly as Jamie eggs him on, and he feels Miles slip closer to oblivion. The hand not holding onto Miles goes up, and back, and grabs onto Jamie’s hair at the nape of his neck and pulls, twisting until the blond curses him out and snaps his hips harder. Alex grits his teeth at first, pain overriding the pleasure, but when he opens himself to it, and allows Jamie’s urgency to be translated by his own hips pumping steadily into Miles, everything simmers, and suddenly Miles opens his mouth and howls, again and again.

"Show me," Alex begs, his thighs tense and shaking. "Show me how you well you come for me, babeh." His words slip and collide, a rolling litany strained by his climax. "Show Jameh how you come for me."

Miles trembles, and has no time to think before Alex’s lips are pressed against his, the kiss sloppy, fevered, and deep. He whines into the dark-eyed lad’s throat, tongue wrapping around Alex’s as Alex’s hand finds Miles’ cock strained and leaking between their bellies. The Scouser’s cry is sharp, the teeth he presses into the soft jut of Alex's bottom lip sharper.

Alex growls into their kiss, and strokes Miles quickly, muttering, “Show me, show me, show me, fookin’ _show_ me, Miles, c’mon an’ come for me. Show me-” Alex breaks off as Jamie’s hips crash against his ass, and falter, and then speed up, bruising him as the blond comes with a roar.

“Oh, _fook_ , Miles, goddammit, _come_!” Alex shouts, his hips driving into Miles with another exuberant thrust from Jamie. His cock is already spurting hot, silky liquid, into Miles, but he continues to grind, rutting and humping, gagging on his ecstasy while becoming faintly aware that his fingers are slippery.

Miles gasps, his body arching away from the wall, fingers digging into Alex’s scalp, and his shoulder, and he rides Alex’s thickness, churning his lean hips, getting everything he can while he screams, and cries, and loses all coherent thought, and concept of light. He comes around moments later, Jamie’s hand holding his on Alex’s shoulder, the combined weight of both of them holding him to the wall as he begins to slide down. He’s not sure his legs will work at this point. He knows his voice won’t. Gentle hands move him, and he recognizes the sweat and tang of Alex’s scent as he’s eased down from his high, his body aching, and terribly bereft.

Still, they won’t leave him, and Miles finds himself sandwiched between the blond and brunet, limbs tangling, hands sweeping over dewy flesh, lips sliding down his chest to gather his spendings and deposit them back into his mouth. Fluttering his lashes, he forces his blurry gaze to take in Alex and Jamie sharing a kiss. Once more Alex’s head lowers, humming against Miles’ flesh, and sucking, biting his way back up from belly to throat until Miles can taste his own come, and Alex’s spit, and Jamie’s sweat, all combined in a bid to call Miles to sleep.

Before he drifts off, though, he hears Jamie chuckle softly, and murmur, “ ‘Ow’s that, then, for three knaves, eh? Beats four kings any day.”

Alex laughs. "You told 'im?" His voice is wrapped with warmth and fondness.

Jamie is quick to reply. "Ehhhh... At least we know he's not a sore loser."

+

“Should we talk about it?”

Miles’ question is whispered in the darkness, and the only other sound is that of limbs sliding along five hundred thread-count sheets, and the muffled array of voices coming from the back of the house, the party still in full swing. Jamie has left with perfect timing, pausing long enough to slip a lingering kiss on Miles’ lips, and then press those same lips to Alex’s brow. He’ll tell the guests he was on the phone with Katie - he’s got a flight home the next morning anyway.

Alex blinks in the shadows, his fingers trailing through Miles’ fuck-ruffled hair, soothed by the soft, warm breath expelled over his chest where the Liverpudlian pillows his head. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Miles shrugs listlessly. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” he murmurs, pressing his face further into Alex’s chest.

Alex can practically feel Miles’ skin burning with his embarrassment, and he licks his lips, and slides his hand down against the back of Miles’ neck, fingers curling there. “You were thinkin’ you needed to try him out, yeah? Convince him to be a player wiv us.”

“Maybe,” Miles says slowly.

“Maybe you were a bit jealous? All those years when you an’ I couldn’t be, me an’ Jamie were.”

“It sounds so petty.”

“It does,” Alex agrees. “But...I think I get it. I think I understand. Or I’m trying to. I want to.”

Miles lifts his head then, and even though there’s barely any light coming in, there’s enough that he can see the glittering black irises of Alex’s eyes, constellations of thoughts apparent. “The last thing I want to do is ‘urt you.”

“But it’s still on the list,” Alex mumbles fondly.

Miles chuckles. “Aye. That. The list. Think it’s time we maybe scrapped that?”

Alex blinks at Miles and shakes his head. “No. No, I don’t think it’s time we do. Still got a few things to cross off.”

“Don’t you think we’ve gone too far?”

The question makes Alex laugh, and really, he feels a bit bad for doing so, and he’s quick to recover. “You’re the one who thought it up in the first place, love.”

“I know,” Miles replies, though there’s a snarl to his words. He lays back down, ear to Alex’s heart. “I just...like...without the list, I don’t think I would have ever done what I did.”

“It’s possible,” Alex murmurs, knowing that Miles is speaking of his transgression with Jamie, “but we’d never be here, either, wrapped in shadows and limbs, talkin’ about it. It’s good to talk, yeah? Innit that what you’re always telling me?” Alex’s fingers slip from Miles’ hair and flutter over the warm skin of his shoulder, sweeping over ribs, side to side, no real destination.

“We could just as easily talk over beers.”

Alex makes a face. “Where’s the fun in tha’?”

“I’m being serious, Al,” Miles pouts, his voice dropping with his mood.

“Miles, I am never more serious than I am wiv you like this. Naked. I’ve got nowt to hide now. What's really boverin’ you?” Alex feels Miles tighten his arm around his side, and he knows he’s struck close to the issue at hand. “Mi?” Alex whispers, when the other man remains silent.

“I just...I’m still...processing this all.” Miles raises a hand half-heartedly to give a little wave, encompassing the situation. “You...an’ Cookie...an’ _me_ an’ Cookie...I mean, how can you be okay wiv it?”

“How can I not be? You’re me best friend, Mi, an’ me lover. An’ Cookie an’ me...yeah, there’s history between us. I understand the curiosity. Believe me, I do. He shook you up, like he did me, an’ it’s scary, yeah? It’s terrifying because now your eyes are open. Now you’re seeing things much clearer, but you don’t wanna believe that it can be anything but blurred. We’ve crossed lines, Miles, an’ in most cases those transactions would mark everythin’ null, an’ void.”

“But?” Miles dares to ask.

“We aren't most cases. We’re anything but conventional,” Alex softly declares. “We come and we go, you know? Waves crashin’ at yon shore come midnight, only to be drawn back to previous engagements. But our moments together are like lifetimes, an’ we learn a lifetime’s worth, and give just as much. We don’t get to live in a castle for the rest of our days, an’ we don’t get to wake up every morning to each other, though I wish it were that way. I ache to have it that way. What we have, though, Miles, isn’t any less intense. I love you, an' it's crazy, an' frightful an' exhilarating, an' powerful an-”

“Epic?”

Alex smiles as at the hope in Miles’ voice. “Reyt, that. Epic. We’re fookin’ epic, Mi, you an’ me, yeah?”

Miles doesn’t reply right away, and Alex waits patiently, his fingers back to smoothing over Miles’ hair, tracing the furrowed brow, and cupping his jaw before he once more slides his hand down to Miles’ neck. His thumb brushes over the bite mark there.

“I promise I will _never_ do anything that thoughtless again,” Miles whispers.

The conviction in Miles’ voice is firm, and Alex smiles and presses his nose into Miles’ hair. “I want you to put it from your mind, Miles. I were hurt, yeah, but it’s faded.” His tone turns playful. “You got what you wanted.”

Miles pushes up from Alex’s chest and hovers over him, the concern on his face apparent. “But did you?”

Alex smiles broadly and nods. “I got you,” he replies. He wraps a hand around the back of Miles’ neck and tugs him back down so that their mouths are inches apart. “Fully,” he murmurs, lips brushing Miles’, “an’ completely.” He kisses Miles softly, and they both melt into it, tongues slipping against each other, teeth sinking softly into lips to press the point. When Alex finally lets Miles up for air, the space between them vibrates with warmth. “You’re mine, an’ I’m yours, an’ that’s all I ever wanted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feels like an end, doesn't it? Don't worry, it's not! Thanks for all the niceness :)


	9. All My Own Stunts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein the cookie crumbs are brushed off and Miles slips into the director's chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.
> 
> So doodelstrudel wanted sex toys / guided masturbation, but I can't remember if she wanted it filmed? But there was definitely a request for Miles to give the orders, and for Alex to obey. It's not has D/s as previous chapters, but I needed to lighten things up a bit after those last three. Things got intense. There were feels. There's feels here, too. Also, Mongolia for reasons, (like brbie; don't worry, I won't just leave it at that). 
> 
> Italics denote what's happening on screen, regular type denotes what's happening in real time. Make sense? Don't worry, I'm sure you can follow along for the sake of Milex smut.

_“Is it recording?”_

_“I dunno...I think so?”_

_“Let me see.”_

_“Oi, wait a sec!”_

_“Say ‘hello’, Alex.”_

_“Hullo, Alex.”_

_“Don’t be a wanker.”_

_“Thought that’s what this was all about?”_

_“It is. Are you nervous?”_

_“Lit’l bit.”_

_“Good. It’ll keep you honest.”_

_“What’s that suppose to mean?”_

_“Nothin’ worse than a cocky pornstar.”_

_“M’not a pornstar.”_

_“Mmm, but you **are** cocky, Al.”_

_“Fuck off, Miles.”_

_“You first.”_

_“Should I joost start?”_

_“I thought we agreed you’d take direction?”_

_“...”_

_“Alex?”_

_“You’re not...like...gonna make me do anyfin’ weird, yeah?”_

_“Alex, after all we’ve been through, you’re concerned about that?”_

_“Joost...get me good side.”_

_“Oh, don’t worry about that, babe. All of them are good, and I plan on getting them. Now, just relax, yeah? I’ve got you, babe. I’ll take care of ya.”_

The picture is grainy, and it’s a shame the screen of the six is so small, but Miles is nothing, if not determined, and Alex is gone again, some photo spread for GQ in a godforsaken location. It’s been three weeks since Cookie came and went, and in that time, Alex and Miles have grown closer, having found footing on new ground. For a spell, Miles had been worried that perhaps Alex wasn’t being forthcoming with his emotions, that he was holding back some resentment, or jealousy, but the dark-eyed lad was patient, and reassuring, and even took it upon himself to revisit the list, choosing Miles’ _number seven_ and giving it a twist.

+

_**One week earlier** _

“I’m leavin’ in a coupla days, Mi. Record it, yeah? Give you summat when I can’t be reached. Wireless out there is a nightmare.”

“Jesus, Alex, it’s not like you’re going to the moon,” Miles had chuckled. Then, he’d paused, seeing the furrow in Alex’s dark brows. “You’re...you’re not going to the moon, are you, Alex?”

Alex had laughed, and shook his head, and curled his arm behind Miles’ neck to pull him into an affectionate embrace. “Not exactly, no.”

Miles cocked an eyebrow warily. “Well, then where _exactly_ are you going?”

“Ehh...Mongolia.” Alex seemed rather sheepish at his admission, and he tried to give Miles a placating smile.

“Mongolia,” Miles repeated flatly, blinking in disbelief. “Like...Mongolia, the land of Genghis Khan, Mongolia?

Alex snorted at Miles’ tone. “No, Miles, Mongolia, France,” he replied, sarcasm heavy.

“What the fuck for?” The Scouser continued, frown marring his features.

“I dunno, the art director wants authenticity or summat? Jesus, Miles, it’s like any other shoot, I show up, they do me hair, put me in fancy clothes, and away we go. I don’t know why it’s Mongolia, but it is, an’ that’s where I’m goin’.”

Miles pouted. “But it’s so far - Alex, it may as well be the moon!”

“You’re being quite dramatic, aren’t you?” Alex grinned. Leaning up, he pressed a kiss to the corner of Miles’ mouth, growling playfully until he felt Miles’ frown melt. “There’s me good boy,” he murmured, fingers flexing on Miles’ hips.

Miles scoffed and leaned back, narrowing his gaze down his nose at Alex. “Look who’s callin’ who a good boy, yeah?” He shook his head and slid his hands down to catch Alex’s before they could get any more flirtatious, and then stepped back, holding the Northerner at arm’s length. “My show, yeah?”

Alex’s dark irises sparked with mischief. “Your show,” he nodded.

+

Miles pauses the replay and slowly makes his way back into his bedroom. He’d returned to Liverpool shortly before Alex shipped out to fucking Mongolia, and he’s been miserable since he arrived. He misses Alex’s home in LA; it feels more like his home than this one does. The bed here is too big, too empty, and it doesn’t smell anything like Alex. Even the sheets don’t feel like Alex, as strange as that seems. Still, Miles gets comfortable on the grand California king, and stuffs the multitude of pillows behind his back, wiggling and working a groove into them until he’s nestled soundly, quite comfortable with his legs stretched out, and one arm folded behind his head. He swipes the ‘play’ button on his phone, and he hears his own voice:

_“My show, yeah?”_

_“Your show,” Alex breathes, looking past the camera and to the man holding it. “Whadya want me t’do?”_

_The soft cadence of Alex’s speech always makes the space between Miles’ hips warm, and he can’t help the little buck his hips give, nor can he keep from pressing his bottom back down into the bedding._

_“Get comfortable,” Miles suggests._

_Alex’s gaze flicks to the camera, and then back to Miles, a slow grin stretching wide. “Want me t’get naked?”_

_“Is that what you want to do?”_

_Alex rolls his eyes impatiently, and then fixes Miles with a pointed look. “You joost said it’s your show.” He spreads his arms wide. “I’m yours for th’takin’.”_

_“Take your clothes off,” Miles’ disembodied reply comes._

On the bed, Miles takes a breath, watching the smile on Alex’s face spread, even as his cheeks turn a bit pink. But he’s a good lad, and he plays along, and Miles finds his breath has turned shallow as he watches Alex on screen slowly work the buttons of his shirt open, and then shrug out of it, letting it flutter to the ground God, he’s flawless, really, and the camera picks up the soft glow of his skin beautifully. To Miles, Alex has always been a bit of an Adonis, with a touch of Narcissus thrown into the curve of his wry grin, and his sly look at the camera.

_“It turns you on to watch like this, yeah? To see me followin’ orders?”_

_“It does,” Miles replies. A moment later, he softly intones, “I didn’t tell you to stop.”_

_A soft huff of air escapes Alex and he traces his fingers over his belt buckle, and the camera zooms in on those graceful digits caressing the brass fittings. There’s a soft line of dark hair leading up from beneath Alex’s jeans, fanning upwards towards his navel, and then beyond that, nothing but smooth, golden skin, save for the smattering of dark hair at his sternum. The camera sweeps the path, and takes in the softly ridged muscles of Alex’s abdomen, the curve of his pecs and the small, but extremely sensitive nipples there._

Miles takes a moment to lick his lips and press his hips back into the bed. Christ above, this was probably Alex’s most genius moment, to let Miles film him doing this. He fumbles with the buttons on his own shirt, parting the placket and tugging the shirt tails from his slacks. 

_Alex’s fingers flit up from his belt buckle and scrape over those tight peaks, and Miles lets out a little gasp at the same time Alex does._

_“That looks good, laa. Does it feel good?”_

_“Hmm,” Alex breathes. The camera catches his dreamy expression, and the way his brow tightens in concentration, as his fingers twist over his nipples. His mouth opens with a silent plea, and then his teeth tug at his bottom lip. The sensations make him restless, and he shifts in place._

_“Jesus, Alex,” Miles gulps. “You’re such a fuckin’ whore.”_

_Alex merely nods, and continues to tug his nipples, one after the other, thumb and forefinger closing on the tender peaks until they’re reddened, and standing at attention._

On the bed, Miles tilts his head one way, and then the other - the image is so vivid, rather fresh in his mind, that it’s almost like Alex is right there with him, and he’s trying to see all angles. The video, of course, doesn’t allow for it, and it’s frustrating for Miles who just wants to see everything right away. That’s always been him, quick to boil, throw everything into the pot, and then set to simmer for as long as possible. Alex takes a little longer to warm up. Miles’ finger itches to scrub the video forward, but he refrains, reminding himself that the build up is half of the pleasure, and that the showman in Alex won’t disappoint. Even if said showman is blushing furiously and stuttering through his words. 

Alex flits back and forth between forgetting the camera is even there, to almost freezing up when Miles’ voice brings him back to the moment - at least, that’s how it seems. The Scouser would wager that it’s not his voice that makes him freeze up, but rather slips into the daydream that Alex seems to be perpetually caught in, reminding him that in this instance, he’s not blissfully alone.

_“How about you take your pants off for me? Hmm?”_

_Alex’s eyelashes flutter, and his tongue slips around the small ‘o’ his mouth has pursed to. Finally, he opens his eyes and turns to the camera. “Should we...dunno...move to the bedroom?”_

_“I’m fine right here,” Miles replies with a bit of venom. He knows Alex is most certainly **not** fine with doing this in the dining room, and Alex frowns, and bites his lip, glancing down to his belt as his hair falls over his eyes._

_“I eat here, you know.”_

_“Mmm, main course **and** dessert. Right now, a late afternoon snack. Take your pants off, Alexander.”_

_With a huff, Alex nods, and his thumbs tuck into the waistband of his jeans and slip round until he can cup the buckle with both hands, and work it open. The camera focuses on Alex’s face, chagrined, and quite a lovely shade of pink, and though it can’t be seen, his hands are shaking, made apparent by the gentle jingle of the buckle coming loose. The camera pans back, Alex’s hands and open pants coming into view, and the denim drops heavily, probably a result of phone, wallet, keys, and smokes, jammed into the snug pockets. Miles groans appreciatively from where he’s filming._

He echoes the groan in real time, and the picture tracks up from where Alex’s bare toes step out of his jeans, crawling up those lean legs, pausing on the rounded quads and hamstrings that turns into the soft swell of a sweet and perfect bum. Not an _ass_ , a bum (or, a _buhm_ , as Alex’s drawl allows), one that looks lovely clothed or otherwise. As Miles hasn’t given the order, it flexes impatiently beneath the soft, white cotton of boxer briefs with every breath Alex takes. Miles can’t help but lick his lips and trace a fingertip over the curve on screen. Christ almighty, he’s a glutton for punishment, he must be, with the way he’s torturing himself.

_“Keep goin’,” Miles gently prods._

_“Aye, that,” Alex concedes._

_Miles wanders from where he films that perfect slope of taut flesh and muscle back to stand in front of Alex, who’s rolling his neck and rounding his shoulders, looking everywhere but the camera as his hands scale up and down his lean torso, fingertips fitting into the grooves of his hips. A breathy sigh escapes Alex’s throat, and his eyes dart to the camera in embarrassment._

Cozy on his bed, Miles slowly works his jeans open, his heart fluttering much the same Alex’s must have in that moment. It’s a particularly sensitive spot, one that Miles has spent endless hours nuzzling, kissing, licking, biting, digging his own fingers into, making the older lad yelp and gasp and twist. Every action from Miles results in an equal reaction from Alex; the two of them make the perfect physical equation.

_The shot moves from Alex teasing his hipbones to the bulge in his boxers, and one hand hesitantly drops down, cupping the weight of his cock through the cotton, squeezing, fingers stroking and finding all parts - shaft, balls, head - before his palm presses against his hardness, and a soft groan falls from his lips._

Miles sneers at the screen, hating the way Alex flirts with the camera, and loving it at the same time. He rests the phone on his chest for a moment and fiddles with his zipper, sighing as his snug jeans loosen about his hips. When he’s ready, he picks up the phone again, and his hand mimics Alex’s on camera, palming his dick in time with Alex, copying movements he knows well: Miles has watched this episode several times, and each time, there’s something new he finds that he didn’t see before, some small nuance that personifies Alex, and makes Miles ache with sweating need.

_Alex looks away, thumbs hooking the sides of his briefs, and with a quick, deep intake of breath, he slips his boxers down his legs. Almost immediately, his hand goes back to his cock, taking up the length and stroking languidly, while looking up to the camera from under his lashes. He blows an air kiss, and lets his lip curl slightly._

“You arrogant lit’l prick,” Miles mutters along with the Miles on the video. He remembers quite vividly how turned on he was by Alex’s insolence, how it made him want to do just dirty, nasty things to the smaller lad. Miles’ voice comes back to him.

_“Pout for me, baby. I do so love it when you pout. Yeah, you’re a petulant brat, aren’t you? Just looking for trouble; look at the camera, Alex. God, you’re lovely.”_

_And Alex pants, and strokes himself faster, eyes falling to greedily take in the scene._

It’s not like he’s never jerked off in front of Miles, but with the camera between them, Miles can sense the difference, and recalls the almost electric feel that seemed to vibrate around Alex. The camera moves then, slipping to a frame of Miles’ feet cross the hardwood, and then there’s a shot of Alex’s bare toes flexing as Miles cages him in against the table. He’d held the camera over Alex’s shoulder to get the shot, angling down to take in the firm planes of his torso, and the centerpiece of Alex’s hand gripping his cock, wrist flexing back and forth with his gentle, but rapid strokes.

_“Yeah, that looks so good, Alex,” Miles’ voice drifts through the scene, and there’s the sound of a wet kiss being placed on the nape of Alex’s neck, and Alex hums in response. “Let’s give somethin’ the camera can work with, yeah?” There’s a click and a spurt, and the screen shows a long, trailing dollop of slick lube falling from the tip of the bottle to land squarely on the bulbed head of Alex’s cock. He pauses his stroking, and opts to roll his thumb around the mess they’re making. There’s a murmur of voices, and the wet sounds of lips meeting, before Alex rasps, “God, Mi, you’re so fookin’ good to me.”_

_“Hmm, I know baby,” Miles answers. “An’ you’re good to me, too. You’re such a good lad, Alexander, look at how pretty your cock is. Is that for me?”_

_“Yes,” Alex hisses. The camera tilts to his face, contorted in bliss, nostrils flared and bottom lip between his teeth._

_“Yes, it is,” Miles agrees. The camera sweeps back down, and Miles’ hand comes into view, tanned, slender fingers slipping and squeezing over Alex’s blunt-tipped digits, their matching rings clicking together as they fight over who gets to be in control of Alex’s cock._

Miles curls his fist where he reclines on the bed, and his hand worms its way under his briefs, not surprised that he’s hard. While his own cock feels completely different compared to Alex’s (much like the differences in their fingers, he’s longer, slender, but satisfying, if the memory of Alex’s moans are any indication), it’s still a relief, and a welcome one. He’s transfixed as he watches the scene unfold further, his hand and Alex’s hand and Alex’s cock, everything slippery, and becoming more so with every upward stroke and squeeze. 

_More lube is added, and Miles pulls the slippery stuff up Alex’s belly, down over his thighs and between, to cup the tightening balls, to flit along the perineum, and to finally circle the tight pucker of Alex’s ass. Alex inhales sharply through his nose, and utters, “Yes,” before pushing back against the searching digits._

_“Shhh,” Miles hushes him. “Don’t stop playin’ with your cock, laa,” he murmurs, setting the camera on forward facing and propping it on the dining room table. “Be right back.”_

_The tremor through Alex’s body is visible, but he obeys Miles’ orders, and continues to stroke and tease, tightening his fingers in a ring at the base of his shaft, while his other hand continues to stroke, and fist._

Miles knows what’s coming next, remembers the way his heart had thudded in his throat as he left Alex in the dining room to retrieve the two objects that were needed to continue their little tableau. He could hear Alex from where he rummaged around in the top drawer of the tallboy dresser, whining and panting, and groaning, and finally a ragged,

_“Fookin’ ‘ell, Mi, hurry up.”_

Miles’ mouth turns up at the sound of Alex’s desperation.

_“How are we doing in here?”_

_Alex looks up from watching himself in the camera - he’s a natural flirt, and can’t help but watch - and focuses on Miles who is on the other side of the table. “Got a prezzie for me, Mi?” Alex breathes._

_“Would you like to see, laa?”_

_Alex focuses across the table, and his eyes widen with a heady mix of trepidation, and excitement, as Miles lays his tools on the table._

_There’s a trill of deviance in Miles’ next words. “Where would you like to start?”_

+

The scene has changed, and Miles paused when the film switched over, so he could get rid of his jeans and tug his shirt off the rest of the way. He then spent a moment rummaging around in his suitcase until he came up with Alex’s soft, grey t shirt, the dark-eyed lad’s scent still ingrained in the fibers. He inhaled deeply, and sighed, and then crawled back on the bed, taking the phone with him. When he’s propped and positioned to his liking, he presses play, and is greeted by the sight of Alex’s naked back, and flexing thighs, his hands pressed to the wood of the table he’s bent over.

_The shot approaches Alex, and there’s another spurt of liquid, this time trickling down Alex’s tailbone to slip between his cheeks. Miles presses two fingers down to follow the trail, and is rewarded with a thick moan, and Alex pushing back._

God, he’d practically been on fire. Miles has always loved prepping Alex, he was so responsive, a hot strangle of soft wetness, and was always eager to take whatever Miles would give him. That time had been no exception, and he’d begged Miles for two fingers right away, and had barely hesitated before timidly asking,

_“Three? Can I have three, Miles? I can take it, I know I can.”_

Miles heart swells with pride as Alex on screen says those words. There’s a pause, and then a sigh from Miles, before he he replies,

_“I’ve somethin’ that’ll fill you up proper, laa, do you want it?”_

_Another tremor zips through Alex’s frame, and he nods, face in profile, eyes softly closed, and mouth open and panting. “Yeah,” he purrs. “Yeah, I want it. Want you to fill me up, Mi.”_

_“Just relax,” Miles intones. “If you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”_

_Alex nods, and holds his breath._

_“An’ breathe, Al,” Miles chuckles. “Don’t want you passin’ out on me.” He opens the lube once more._

He’d set the camera on the small of Alex’s back at that point, needing two hands to fulfill Alex’s wishes. Miles watches his own face draw in concentration, his eyes narrowing, and then widening as his mouth did the same. His tongue presses against his bottom lip, and the Miles on screen does the same, before he utters, 

_“Oooh, that looks so fookin’ good, Alex.”_

_“Ah - fook! Thas’ fookin’ cold,” Alex chuckles shakily._

_“Shh, I’ve got ya, just hold still. Do you want me to stop?”_

_“God, no, Mi.”_

_“Good boy,” Miles whispers. He moves out of frame, and there’s a sound of a tender kiss to Alex’s asscheek. Then, he’s back on camera, his mouth moving with an almost silent stream of soothing words, murmuring for Alex to let him in, that it’s okay, that it’s going to feel so good._

_“Oh, that’s my **very** good boy, yeah? Look at that, just a little bit more.”_

_Alex hisses, and keens, and nods his head while he licks his lips and pushes up with one hand, his other falling between his thighs to take up stroking his cock once more._

It’s almost a shame that the moment wasn’t captured on film, but it doesn’t much matter as the memory is burned into Miles’ brain: Alex took the small, gently curved, stainless steel toy in his ass and barely batted an eyelash, and the way he’d stretched around it is enough to give Miles an aching hardon on a rainy day. 

_There’s a thick gulp when the toy is firmly seated, and Miles gives it a twist so that the curved end is snug against Alex’s taint, cold, but quickly warming to body temperature. The steel is unyielding, no doubt giving a most delirious sensation._

He remembers Alex pressing up on his toes with a sigh and a hum. He quickly pauses the video and opens his photo album, thumbing back until he finds the snapshots he took: Alex’s ass breached and snug around the flashing steel, his body prone on the table, and his face - god, his flawless, angular face - a mask of mounting pleasure and disbelief. Miles takes a moment to stroke his cock, staring at the cut of jaw and cheekbone and whorish mouth. Fuck, he wants Alex. Wants him now. He opens the video once more and resumes.

_Miles picks up the camera and aims it to where he gently prods the end of the toy, making it sweep against Alex’s prostate. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, Miles!” Alex gasps_

_“Ease off, Alex,” Miles chides. “Can you stand up?”_

_“Fook,” Alex groans. Then, he sighs and nods. “Aye. Yeah.” Miles moves around to film Alex from the side, that gloriously hard cock curved back, the tip almost tapping him below the navel, and Alex’s head tilted back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows around his pleasure. “Shit, Mi, m’gonna come if you make me move again.”_

_“Hmmm. That won’t do, I’ve more planned.” He rummages around on the table and finds the other toy, which he shows to the camera. It’s a soft, clear, silicone sleeve, fashioned to be fucked, and holds it out to Alex._

_“Wot?” Alex mumbles, his hands shaking as he takes the thing up and turns it over in his hands. He casts a pensive glance to Miles._

_“Show me how you fuck.”_

The wash of pink up Alex’s cheeks makes Miles squirm on the bed and set his prop his phone up against his thigh where he’s bent one leg up. He wraps his hands around his cock much like Alex does, and thinks about Alex’s touch, firm and almost greedy.

_“I...Jesus, Miles...you want me to...I…”_

_“You’re fuckin’ adorable when you’re at a loss for words, laa. M’not askin’ you to marry it. M’askin’ you to show. Me. How. You. Fuck. I feel it baby, trust me, I do, an’ I love the way you fuck me, but I wanna see it, yeah? Wanna see what you do to yourself when I’m not around. You can close your eyes if it helps.”_

_Alex answers with a shuddering exhale, and contemplates the sleeve. His hand hasn’t stopped moving on his cock, and that’s when Miles knows that he’s going to give in. Alex wants to come, and judging from the dark red rush of blood to his cock, he’s not going to back down because Miles has asked him to use a toy._

_Alex looks up into the camera and slyly grins, before nodding. “Yeah,” he breathes, flicking his hair from his eyes. “Yeah, all right. You wanna watch?”_

_MIles doesn’t need to answer, and watches as Alex takes the lube in one hand, and the sleeve in the other, and slicks the silicone, and dumps more on his cock. The sticky sound is picked up on camera, along with the little grunts of mounting pleasure. He curses softly, and hisses between his teeth as he fits the sleeve at the end of his cock and slowly sinks in. A hot breath escapes him - it’s tight, not like fucking an arse, but maybe a soft piece of cunt. In any case, it’s warm and snug and slippery, and he gives an experimental thrust, trying to get a feel for the object._

_“Try it like-” Miles breaks in, and then fades away as Alex lifts his head, and aims those lust-drunken eyes on the camera. “Put your...fuck, Alex, don’t look at me like that, or this shoot will be over.”_

_Alex grins, and blows another air kiss to the camera, and gives his cock a firm tug as if weighing it. “What do you want me to do?”_

_“Like this,” Miles utters, and the shot shakes and blurs, and Miles moves behind Alex and then directs the shot back down his torso. Miles holds the camera with one hand, and nudges Alex forward until his cock is laid on the table._

_“Will this ruin the finish?” Alex asks absently, frowning at the polished teak of his table._

_“Fuck the finish,” Miles snarls, reaching between Alex and the table and taking up Alex’s hand. “Thumbs here,” Miles instructs, hooking Alex’s thumb over the top of his cock, right at the base. Alex follows suit with his other thumb “And grip the table here.” He presses Alex’s fingertips to the underside of the table top and squeezes until Alex lets out a sharp moan. “You see, baby? Hmm? That feel good?”_

_“Oh, shit,” Alex groans, his hips already pumping. The grip has tightening things, and now it’s closer to fucking Miles’ ass than it was before. He lets his eyes slip closed, still very much aware of Miles standing behind him._

“Now fuck it,” Miles rasps, on his bed in his home in Liverpool, his own private pornographic movie playing placidly on his lap. “Fuck it, and come for me.” He starts a quick, firm rhythm on his cock, and checks the the counter on the video. He knows the whole thing is shy of twenty-three minutes long, and that Alex cums at the 21:23 mark. The video is currently at twenty minutes, and counting, and he half watches as Alex’s hips wind, and the camera focuses on the firm thickness squeezing in and out of the silicone, and the way Alex’s grip gets firmer. It’s shot from a downward angle still, Miles standing there, fully clothed, pressed against Alex’s naked back, his free hand flitting down to hold Alex’s hip, not guiding, merely feeling, and seeing, experiencing everything but being the one penetrated in this moment. Oh, the thought of masturbating to a video of Alex wanking like a trashy little tart just makes Miles’ blood surge harder in his veins. _That’s_ something they haven’t had the chance to really explore yet, either, a no-holds-bar wankfest where they can just stroke their cocks for each other, and in the lust-ridden haze of Miles’ imagination he adds it to his list.

_The panting on screen is harsh, a mix of Miles and Alex, punctuated by Alex’s sharp moans, and his wicked cursing. The focus shifts to Alex’s face briefly, slack-jawed and awed, his mouth open in a howl as Miles’ fingers snake from his hip to between his cheeks, and gently push the stainless steel holding him open just that much further. It sends Alex’s hips into a churning race to finish, and he bucks backwards, slipping out of the silicone sleeve and leaving it rather bereft looking, while taking hold of his cock with only his hand, as Miles presses his lips to Alex’s jaw and bites, and moans in time with him. He pumps the steel against Alex’s prostate, keeping rhythm as always, and Alex begins his final ascent._

He remembers the rapidly spinning vortex of energy at that moment, the tightening of his own gut as Alex faltered and tripped into a whirlpool of desire. Miles isn’t sure if it was his subconscious, or just dumb luck, that made his thumb slip over the forward facing option on the camera, but suddenly he’s greeted with his face, and Alex’s face, both raw and open, Miles urging Alex on, and Alex straining to please Miles, and himself, in the process. It’s the whimper that Alex heaves that guts him, that makes him tremble, on camera, and off, and there’s a hoarse shout followed by Alex’s gasping admission that he’s going to come, 

_“Jesus, here it comes, Mi, oh, fuck, here it comes-”_

Miles is thankful for the Otterbox case on his phone, as Alex comes on screen, and Miles comes on the screen, thick, white splatters mixing with the thick, white-hot moans, only glass and time separating them.

_The phone clatters to the table as Alex doubles over, and it records fifty-two seconds of ceiling, but endless moans and groans, softly whispered words of praise, and wandering mouths. “Leave it - oh, fuck, leave it in, Mi, it’s so fuckin’ good, yeah?”_

_“I know, baby,” Miles sighs with a fond chuckle. “An’ it looks so good. But we’re going to have to move eventually; I reckon you don’t fancy me servin’ dinner on your arse.”_

_Alex groans, and fumbles, and his face comes into focus, his dark eyes glazed over, and his skin flushed and shiny with sweat. “Hmmm...what about dessert?”_

_“What, like a knickerbocker glory?”_

_“Pound cake,” Alex returns with stark enunciation and a wicked grin._

_Miles roars his laughter as best he can. “With custard?” he replies, and the video cuts out._

Miles gasps where he’s prone on the sheets, smiling at their banter, the warmth of the moment penetrating him even now. It was good to laugh after their rendezvous with Cookie. It shifted things back to a level of intimacy that Miles was comfortable with. That Alex could joke meant that he was easing back to their brand of normalcy, however that was defined. He needs a shower, he decides, peeling himself up from the mattress and allowing his heart to return to a healthy speed. After that, he decides, he’s going to research the next flight to Mongolia. He can’t stand the idea of Alex having fun in a ger without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mention two sex toys here, one is a prostate massager that is more or less like an anal trainer (I hate the word buttplug tbh), it's curved to hit the prostate and curve along the taint as described. The other is a male masturbator, and is more or less like described, too. I don't know if lube and or semen ruins the finish on hardwood, but I'd be just as concerned as Alex is.


	10. Tinting the Solitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alex goes on a faraway location for GQ France, and Miles isn't content to sit idle and wait for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.
> 
> Wow, okay, this took a long time! I appreciate the patience most of you exuded, lol. So, this came about as the result of a few prompts on tumblr: brbie / mybrbie wanted some sweet milex loving without all the bumps and bruises, and she asked that it be built around the infamous Nouveau West shoot from GQ France - when I asked if she knew where that spread was shot, she gave the infamous reply, "I don't care if it was shot in Mongolia." Never give me an in like that, darling, because this is what happens :) This will be two parts, readers, but I needed to get something up before Roksana flew overseas and threatened my wellbeing.

Miles stood at the entrance to the Kempinski Hotel Khan Palace in Ulaanbaatar and decided that it was definitely better than staying in a traditional ger on the windy plains of Mongolia. The flight from London to Frankfurt to Moscow to Ulaanbaatar had been a beast: eleven hours in total, and all Miles wanted to do was to find Alex, have a beer, eat something local, and pass out for a spell. Maybe a hot bath. Or a shower. Or a massage; the cab driver had commented that the hotel had one of the best spas in the city. Maybe he could talk Alex into a little pampering. Lord knew that the man often overlooked his own comfort while accommodating others. Shouldering his garment bag, he plucked his small suitcase from where the driver has set it, and moved through the front doors into the warmly lit lobby. He hadn’t made reservations, but he knew what room Alex is in because Alex sent him a selfie from outside the room when he’d checked in: 515, corner suite, with a separate sitting area and a spacious bathroom.

_**Tub is big enough for two**_ Alex had texted when he sent a picture of said tub. 

Miles deftly ducked down the hallway towards the elevators and stepped inside the waiting car, heart rising as he did, and when he finally stepped off, he had a moment of panic: what if Alex wasn’t there? It was - Miles paused to check his watch - almost ten am; if the photographer was any good, they’d be using the morning sun for most shots, and then waiting for the evening to do more.

Maybe Alex was there, however. Miles wasn’t certain of Alex’s shooting schedule; to be honest, he wasn’t sure about anything. A trip to Mongolia was definitely spontaneous in his book; borderline insane for some. Squaring his shoulders, he checked the plate on the wall that indicated the direction of rooms 506-518, and then headed in the corresponding direction. He passed a room attendant on the way and flashed her a toothy grin and a “Good morning,” as he passed, to which the reply came, “Good Morning, Mr. Turner.”

Miles paused, and it was on the tip of his tongue to correct her, but he held back, as the mistake might serve useful. Charming people, those who thought all Englishmen sounded the same. He continued on towards the room and when he found himself standing before 515, he paused, and checked if there was anyone around. It would look rather strange if the room attendant who had mistaken him for Alex suddenly saw him knocking on the door to ‘his’ room. The hallway was clear, and so Miles rapped his knuckles on the wood, waited, and then did it again when no reply came. Going a bit further, he leaned in and pressed his ear to the wood and listened.

It was silent. That either meant that Alex was in a dead sleep (highly unlikely, especially in such a foreign place), or he was, in fact, already on location for the shoot. Leaving his bags at the door, Miles headed back to the room attendant and found her folding towels.

“Excuse me, love, but I fear I’ve locked meself out me room. It’s 515. Do you think you could…” he trailed off and flashed her another grin, watching as she smiled and looked away under the pretense of modesty.

She merely nodded, however, and brushed her dark hair from her eyes as she motioned for MIles to follow her.

He was sure to tip her as she left, and he closed the door gently behind him, dropping his bags and taking a deep breath. It had the generic scent of hotel rooms - industrial cleaned linens, and scrubbed tiles, but with the underlying spice and citrus of the cologne Alex favoured. There was also the stillness that accompanies empty spaces. Alex was no where to be seen, and so Miles moved into the room and took a lay of the land.

It was rather lavish for Mongolia - at least, that was what Miles figured. The front room was large, showcasing a cozy leather loveseat and a matching club chair, a 40” flatscreen, and a small desk that currently housed Alex’s tattered notebook and a couple of pens. Neutral tones were offset by the dark leather and wood; the large window looked out over the city, the steppes of the country just barely visible in the bright morning light.

Miles moved to the bedroom, excited at the prospect of inspecting what he hoped would be where he and Alex spent most of their time. It was fair sized, with most of the space occupied by a king-sized bed, backed by a quilted headboard, and laden with large pillows, all wrapped up in white bed linens with red and gold accents. Very oriental, and quite charming, really.

The bathroom off the bedroom was done up with warm taupe marble and tile, gold faucets and taps, and more red accents. Alex was right - the bathtub was big enough for two, and then some. Miles grinned to himself, letting his gaze fall on Alex’s personal effects - his comb and his hairdryer, the round brush he used to get the most volume out of his thick strands, the half-empty tin of pomade, his razor, his shaving cream, his toothbrush...Miles felt a pang of longing run through him. It was always the little things, it seemed, that reminded him the most of Alex, and these were no exceptions. He’d spied the leather carry-all near the bed, and Miles suspected that if he were to open the closet, he’d find familiar t shirts and leather jackets, and at least two pairs of boots. All in all, Alex could make any space his own, inhabit it, and it made Miles feel more than welcome.

There were a few things missing, though, he decided. Flipping his phone on, he quickly googled a few things in the local area. The mini tour through the bedroom and bath had inspired him, much to his delight. It appeared as though what he was looking for would be fairly easy to procure. While he wondered if he might find a few things at the spa right there in the hotel, a message banner popped up at the top of his screen: a message from Alex.

 _ **It’s fucking freezing out here.**_

Miles quickly opened the message and laughed out loud at the mirror selfie Alex had taken in what appeared to be the makeup trailer. The lean, bequiffed man was decked out in a puffy blue jacket that was most likely down-filled, and pewter suit pants. His dark hair was perfectly slicked back, not a strand out of place, and he was pouting - fucking _pouting_. That little fucker knew what pouting did to Miles.

A second message popped up: _**Too bad you’re not here to warm me up when I’m done.**_

Miles quickly tapped out a reply: _**It’s a shame, yeah. Show us what you’ve got under that atrocity that is a jacket.**_

Alex sent a second picture, this one with the jacket unzipped, and showing off the matching pewter jacket, and a python-print shirt, which made Miles laugh out loud. _**Steal that from my closet before you left?**_ Squinting at the picture, he recognized the belt buckle immediately. They’d even let him keep his _Death Ramps_ ring on. Miles had always appreciated when artistic directors allowed for that bit of personal effect. He spun his own copy of the ring out of habit.

 _ **Looks that way, don’t it?**_ Alex replied. A few seconds later, another message came through. _**I miss you.**_

Miles smiled fondly as he read, and re-read those words. It was nice to be missed; even more so when Alex was doing the missing. _**Miss you, too, baby. When you coming home?**_

When Alex didn’t answer right away, Miles continued on his search for supplies for that evening, his plans more definite with Alex’s complain of cold and wind. He was right; he’d be able to acquire most things in the spa, and inquire about the rest of them. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to venture too far.

 _ **I’ve got to run**_ came the next reply from Alex. _**Another six hours here, then an hour drive back before I get to the hotel.**_

 _ **Awww, poor baby**_ Miles returned. _**If you want to call when you’re through…**_

_**Count on it. Probably call you from the lobby.** _

Miles glanced at the clock and nodded to himself. _**That would be sound, love. xx**_

Given that he had hours to spare, Miles determined he could get in a few hours sleep and still be able to procure the items needed and have time to set up all before Alex called him from the lobby. God, the lad would be absolutely floored to find Miles here, in Mongolia, to say the least. Miles set his alarm, confirming the time and turning the volume up full blast. Collapsing onto the bed, he closed his eyes in an attempt to nap as best he could. His mind was busy with plans for that night, and he couldn’t wait to put them into play.

+

_**I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been stuck with straight pins today.** _

_**They keep having to hem everything.** _

_**I feel like Eddie Munster.** _

_**Now I feel like Steve McQueen.** _

_**Mi, I’m having an identity crisis. Am I even in Mongolia anymore?** _

_**Send help.** _

_**Send food.** _

_**I’m cold.** _

_**I’m tired.** _

_**I’m bored.** _

_**You’ll love this one.** _

Each text that came in periodically made Miles smile even wider, or chuckle, or down right guffaw - the Eddie Munster shot, with the striped shirt and slicked back hair, had made Miles choke on his toast and tea he’d had sent up after he’d awoken from his nap. He was in the middle of making a list of things he needed from the spa - that was his first stop - when the texts started coming in. Alex wasn’t ever really one prone to complain about much, but Miles knew the trials of a photo shoot very well. He hoped what he had planned would be doubly appreciated. Opening the picture that accompanied the last text, he really did choke on his tea this time, and then his toast fell from his fingers before he dusted the crumbs from them, and enlarged the picture.

“Bloody _fucking_ Christ, Alex,” Miles murmured, hazel eyes tracking the photo.

Alex, dressed in a denim shirt, shearling coat, and snug, black jeans, stood with his hips cocked, head turned to profile, lips pursed, dark hair swinging into his eyes and a fucking shotgun slung behind his neck, his arms hung over the barrel and stock. Miles felt his mouth go dry and his pants grown a little tighter at the image.

He loved it when his laa looked so _tuff_. The shoot in the American GQ from the spring before, where he’d been dressed up in all his Teddy-Boy glory, had done a number to Miles’ senses and brought about daydreams for days, all in which Alex was dressed in slacks and stacked loafers, snug button down shirts, flash jewelry, skinny ties, and all that luscious hair blown out and sculpted into a magnificent quiff. Had Alex been graced with more height and less talent with a pen and paper, he would have made a wonderful catalogue model. 

These new photos suggested that the Teddy-Boy had been replaced, and rightfully so. Gone was the flick of his quiff, and then petulance in his pout. In its place was slick hair, and ample attitude. To Miles, every single one of the pictures that Alex sent had one message ingrained: he was a viable prick, and a fuckable one at that. Miles shuddered at the idea of being roped and wrangled by this new version of Alex, and with that thought became motivated to finish his errands in anticipation of Alex’s return. Alex wouldn’t expect a reply right away, as he thought Miles was still in London, and London was eight hours behind. The Scouser pocketed his phone and stood, checking for his wallet and his cigarettes, and then picked up the spare room key Alex had left on the bureau in the front room, a stroke of dumb luck if Miles had ever seen one. He was out the door, down the hall, and in the elevator in record time.

+

Alex was fading fast. The gentle rocking motion of the shuttle van, paired with the warmth and hum of the heater, made him drowsy, despite the rumble in his stomach, and the ache in his limbs. The shoot had been gruelling, but kitsch and charming, to say the least: the artistic director had found a few abandoned buildings to shoot at, and a vintage Chevy Fleetmaster that had seen better days, which brought the whole idea of Nouveau West together. 

The irony wasn’t lost on him, of course, and he and his companion for the shoot (a lovely French girl aptly named Sophie, who had both wit and charm) rolled their eyes at the fact they’d travelled far east to emulate the wild west of America. She’d made it fun, at least on the surface. Alex couldn’t shake the feeling of homesickness, and spent most of his down time shooting texts to Miles that he knew wouldn’t be read for another six hours at least. Miles was probably wrapped up in his bed, swathed in soft cotton sheets and a fluffy down duvet, while Alex was subjected to stifling down coats that warded of the cutting wind on the steppes, and being poked and preened and prodded to the point of acute frustration. Really, all he wanted was a whiskey, a bath, and the bed in the hotel room. Tomorrow night, he’d fly back to London via Frankfurt, and he couldn’t wait to get back to where things made a bit more sense.

Back to Miles, really.

He sighed, and pulled his phone out to check and see if perhaps Miles had roused early...or stumbled in late, and read his texts. To Alex’s surprise and delight, there was one quick message from Miles that read, _**Have fun, lad. Gotta catch a few hours sleep, but let me know when you’re done, yeah? Call me. I’ll wake up for you.**_ Alex smiled softly and then closed his eyes once more, tilting his head back against the seat for the remaining forty-five minute drive.

He lurched awake when they entered the city, the motion of the van coming to a stop light pulling him from his nap. Alex rubbed bleary eyes and sighed once more, as his stomach rumbled audibly. In all honesty, he’d probably kill someone for a cheeseburger and a strawberry shake, and he tried to remember what he’d seen listed on the room service menu back in his hotel room. The neon lights and signs lining the busy downtown strip of Ulaanbaatar boasted _McDonald’s,_ of course, and themed pubs named _Spear and Sword, Kahn’s Palace,_ and _Nomad_ , but nothing interested him. Thoughts of American food back in LA flooded his mind, and from there skipped to greasy fried chips and fish, which in turn made him think of Miles.

Pulling out his phone, he quickly called the Liverpudlian and held his tongue between his teeth, waiting for Miles to pick up.

“Hey, laa,” came the purred greeting. “All finished for the day?”

Alex groaned with a nod. “Not a moment too soon, either. Fook me, m’starvin’. When I get back to London, let’s go to _Bull an’ Finch_ , aye? Got a hankerin’ for yorkies. An’ a cheeseburger. Did I wake you?”

Miles hummed on the other end. “Not really. I was up. Can’t sleep, really. Cheeseburger sounds good right about now,” he added with a laugh. “How was the shoot?”

Alex slunk down in his seat and proceeded to regale Miles with tales from the set. He mentioned Sophie in a breath, and Miles chuckled, and wondered out loud if Alex’s charms had been put to good use.

“She’s married, the young thing. Bless her, though, she’s a hard worker. What have you been up to? Did you go out last night?”

The Scouser chuckled. “Not even close. Made plans with Jay, didn’t pan out. Stayed at home, ate curry, worked on a song.”

“Oh?” Alex sat a little straighter. “Anythin’ you wanna share?”

“Christ, no,” Miles groaned, laughing at the end. “It’s shite.”

“I doubt that,” Alex murmured. He stifled a yawn.

“Tired, laa?” Miles prodded softly.

“Right, that,” Alex replied. “I’m about ten minutes from me hotel. Gonna fall face first into that king-sized bed, I think.” He shivered slightly. “Maybe a shower first. Frozen to the marrow.”

“That sounds perfect,” Miles confirmed. “And you’ll be home tomorrow?”

“Mm hm. I’ll send ya me flight number when in the mornin’. Gonna come an’ meet me?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, laa,” Miles assured him.

“Didn’t think so,” Alex grinned.

They said their goodbyes, though Alex was reluctant to go. But Miles seemed distracted, and Alex wondered if he might be tired. He checked his watch: nine pm in Ulaanbaatar meant it was...three pm in Liverpool? Four? Must have been a late night writing, Alex decided, smiling at the thought. Something good had kept him awake.

+

Alex slugged through the lobby, tired smile gracing his face as he greeted the few people there still lingering, and headed straight for the elevator. A suit bag was draped over one shoulder, the hangers hooked on his graceful fingers. Wardrobe had been kind enough to let him keep the grey suit, and the python print shirt, though he doubted he’d ever get to wear the latter. Miles would make sure it saw some action, however, and Alex couldn’t wait to hear the Scouser’s laugh as he laid eyes upon it.

He sighed as the elevator began its ascent, and he leaned back against the wall. The closer his floor came, the more his bones ached, and his eyes burned. He might have to skip dinner, despite the constant rumbling in his stomach, and just head straight to bed. He couldn’t imagine keeping upright at this point; in truth, he was liable to slide down the wall at any second and find reprieve on the floor of the elevator car.

But the doors opened, much to his relief. The walk down the hall took little time, but most of his remaining effort, and he paused at the door to 515 to search his coat for his key. When he found it, he slumped into the doorframe and wiggled it into place, another small sigh leaving his lungs as the lock clicked. He pushed the door open, and pulled himself inside.

The garment bag was hung in the front entry, as well as his coat, and he toed off his shoes and peeled his socks off before venturing further into the room. Glancing around, something seemed... _off_. He hadn’t left lights on, had he? He moved into the lounge area and took survey. Perhaps it had been the maid service, turning down his bed? He’d always thought it an odd request, having one’s bed turned down by a complete stranger, but as he lived in more and more hotels these days, at Matthew’s urging, Alex had learned to take advantage of the little perks available to him, more for his amusement than his inability to do something so simple as pulling tightly tucked sheets from place. Moving through the room, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it over the leather loveseat.

A flicker of light caught his eye. There, in the middle of the small correspondence desk, was a single, deep red candle, flame curling hypnotically with the shifting air he was creating. He drew back and cocked his head, trying to rationalize it. Was...was this part of the service? A candlelit welcome? A sound came from the bathroom, and Alex was immediately on high alert, shifting to the bedroom, where he paused in the doorway and felt his breath catch.

More of those small, red candles, at least two dozen, were scattered all along the bureau and window sills, drapes and blinds pulled back to let in the light of the city nestled against the steppes that he could just make out in the fading light. The effect was one of glowing, golden light, swelling as the flames flickered, making the room feel like it was breathing like a lover might: deep, and languid, and comforting. Another sound came from behind the bathroom door, which was closed, and Alex recognized it as the swish of water. He felt his smile return, as he began putting the pieces together.

Settling his hand on the doorknob of the bathroom door, Alex took a breath to calm himself, and he let his eyes close. This was real. This was not some fantasy his exhausted mind had conjured. He continued telling himself that even as he pushed the door open, and was greeted by a rush of warm, sweet, humid air, the gentle sounds of water moving. Upon opening his eyes, he again found more candles, twice as many as the bedroom held, making the tiny room appear to be an underground cavern filled with treasures - rubies, gold, diamonds, and there, in the bathtub, the rarest find.

“Welcome back, laa. Couldn’t be arsed to wait in London for ya.” Miles smiled from amidst the perfumed water swirling about his chest and upper arms, glass of champagne delicately clasped between his elegant fingers.

Alex chuckled, and shook his head. “You’ve got a cheek,” he mused, already reaching for his shirt buttons and pulling them free, one by one. He grinned and motioned to the bathtub. “Big enough for two, am I right?”

Miles made a face of contemplation, and glanced about the porcelain structure. “Could be snug,” he sighed, sounding put out. He then flashed Alex his winning smile, and winked. “But I’m sure we’ll make it work.”

+

The older lad’s eagerness had barely be contained, and he’d stripped off immediately, before leaning over the edge of the tub and fusing his mouth against Miles’ in a firm, reassuring kiss. They’d breathed their hellos between gulps and gasps for air, and then Alex had vaulted into the tub, splashing water, and wrapping long limbs around Miles. When he was somewhat sated with the taste of Miles’ mouth, Alex settled and let Miles scrub him from the toes up, the Scouser turning the smaller lad until they were in the position they were now.

 

“How did you get in here?”

Miles smiled at Alex’s question, his lips pressed to the top of Alex’s head as Alex leaned back against Miles in the tub. Slowly scrubbing the sponge over Alex’s chest, Miles hummed, and then slid his toes up Alex’s shin. “Apparently, we englishmen look all alike.”

“Eh?” Alex muttered, craning his neck back so he might catch Miles’ gaze.

“Cute little thing on housekeeping thought I was you. I flashed a smile, and she showed me your room.”

“You’re a terrible human being,” Alex growled playfully.

“Mmm, yes, an’ you’re just runnin’ for the hills, tryna get away from me as fast as possible, aye?”

“Hush,” Alex scolded, settling back against Miles’ chest. He picked up Miles’ hand that still clutched the sponge, and brought it down against his chest once more. “Keep scrubbin’.”

As if Miles would deny Alex that. He wished he’d had a camera to capture Alex’s expression when he discovered Miles in his bathtub, the scene set. Caught unawares, Alex had stood with wide eyes and gaping mouth, surprise evident, and then it had all dissolved into that boyish smile, the one that spread across his face and make his eyes crinkle at the corners. Miles was fairly certain he fell in love with Alex all over again at that point.

“You’re starting to prune, love,” Miles pointed out, lifting Alex’s hand from where it lay against Alex’s belly, and gently sucking the first two digits. When Alex shivered at the sensation, Miles went one step further, and nibbled the tips, his tongue gliding between them.

“Yes, you seem very concerned about the state of me skin,” Alex hummed, stretching as best he could, and pressing his toes to the end of the tub. “But it is gettin’ a lit’l chilly in here.”

Miles slowly bit down on Alex’s pointer finger, and swept his other hand down between his pecs, watching as Alex’s hips shifted beneath the water, and the surface disturbed as Alex’s desire began to rise. “Then let’s get you warmed up, laa,” Miles breathed.

+

“Oh, god,” Alex groaned, closing his eyes and licking his lips. “Honestly, Miles, I don’t know what I did to deserve this treatment, but here’s ‘opin’ I do it again, real soon.” He slumped down into the club chair in the front room of the suite, tucking his chin into the fluffy white robe he was wrapped in, all while still savoring the taste of flame-broiled beef, thick American cheese, mustard, pickles and the thickest strawberry shake he’d ever had. “ ‘Ow do you keep doin it?” Alex murmured.

“Doin’ what, laa?” Miles asked. Clad in his own bathrobe, he turned his eyes to Alex, gazing fondly at the older man.

“Surprisin’ me,” Alex continued with a hum. “Just when I fink I’ve got ya pegged...hm. You show up in me bathtub, two thousand miles from yours, with a fookin’ cheeseburger and candlelight.”

“Well...we wouldn’t want you getting bored, would we? That would never do.”

Alex slowly shook his head and cracked an eye open to look at Miles. “I could never get bored wiv you.”

“That’s why I keep surprisin’ you,” Miles answered, coming full circle. He eyed Alex for another moment and then asked, “You’re not gonna fall asleep on me, are ya, laa?”

“Hmm,” Alex shrugged, letting his eyes drift closed. “Might. Dunno.” Once more, his eyes opened, and he fixed Miles with his dark gaze. “Did you have summat planned?”

Miles grinned. “Of course.”

Alex frowned and forced himself to sit straight. “I don’t...hafta get dressed, do I? I really don’t want to leave the room.”

“No, Al,” Miles laughed. “I can definitely say you do not have to get dressed for this. In fact,” he continued standing from his chair and making his way towards the bedroom, “I would say that you’re overdressed for this next portion of the evening.”

“Miles?” Alex sung, curiosity lacing his voice. “You flew eleven hours to have sex?”

“I flew eleven hours to have sex with you. There’s a difference, laa. I wouldn’t do this for just anyone. And who said anything about ‘sex’? We can have lots of fun naked and not have sex.”

Alex stared at Miles with a look of passive disbelief etched on his features. “You expect me to believe that?”

Miles cocked his head, and then motioned for Alex to join him. “I expect you to trust me,” he answered simply. 

As Alex couldn’t deny him that request, he rose and followed Miles in reply.

+

The rather luxuriant spa in the hotel had offered up several different bottles of oil to choose from, but it had taken Miles only a few seconds to select one scented with orange blossom, sandalwood, cloves, and bergamot. Once he’d poured a small amount into his hands and warmed it between his palms, he’d heard the sharp inhale Alex made, followed by the soft murmur of content. Miles then proceeded to drop more of the substance onto Alex’s back, letting it collect in the dip at the base of his spine, before spreading it up and around.

That had been twenty minutes ago, and now Alex was a puddle of warm flesh and soft muscles, all glowing curves and dips and angles, made apparent by the combination of massage oil and candlelight. With another sweep of his long-fingered hands, Miles rolled the knots out in Alex’s spine, causing him to groan thickly where he lay prone on the bed. The Scouser was perched on his arse, nothing but a small towel separating them to give the illusion that Miles had no ulterior motives. 

The way Alex was responding to his touch, however, and emitting small gasps and long, pleasured sighs, Miles was having a hard time concentrating on _just_ the stiff muscles of Alex’s back. The one he was interested in most, however, was pressed into the mattress. Miles leaned up and over Alex and exerted more pressure into the shoulder blades and trapezium. Another long, low huff and sigh rolled out of Alex, with a request for, “ _more_.” Miles grinned, before sitting back and reached for the small vial of oil on the bedside table.

“Lower?” Miles asked softly, already moving back to situate himself on Alex’s hamstrings.

“Mm hm,” came the dazed reply, followed by a small shimmy of lean hips. “You take sooch good care o’me, Mi,” Alex continued, smiling as Miles’ hands worked out the knots in Alex’s hips and glutes.

“Someone has to.” Miles upended the vial once more, and watched a small stream of the cleary, silky stuff dribbled along the cleft of Alex’s ass. Throwing caution to the wind, Miles cupped his palms under the curves of Alex’s buttocks, and worked his thumbs upwards, loosening the muscles, but also making way for the oil to work its way down.

Alex could only hum again, and chuckle at Miles’ devious grasp. He’d had a fairly good notion where this massage would end up when Miles showed him the oil, and then ordered him to lose the robe, and lay on the bed. The first sweep of Miles fingers up his spine had made him stiffen and then shudder, and he forced himself to relax. It was hard, even as tired as he was, but Miles was persistent, and Alex gave himself over to the firm, warm touch of his lover’s hands. 

Presently, he became aware of another trickle of tepid oil, this one poured directly between his cheeks, followed closely by slippery fingers that pressed and rubbed against his entrance, testing, teasing, making the space between his hips warm. He couldn’t help but spread his thighs a little further, making more room for Miles, before closing his eyes and concentrating on his breathing. It wasn’t an easy task. Miles’ breath ghosted over his lower back, and his hips, and when Alex tried to move, Miles exerted pressure that told Alex he wasn’t to move just yet.

“ _Mi-_ ”

The Scouser’s name died on his lips as he felt the scrape of Mile’s short stubble rasping against his buttock. Before Alex could realize his intentions, the warm, soft swipe of Miles’ tongue came next, and Alex clutched the sheets beneath him, and pressed his face into the mattress with a groan.

“Like tha’, do ya?” Miles’ question drifted up, bouncing in the haze of Alex’s cotton candy mind.

The prone man bit his lip and whimpered in reply, holding his breath for Miles’ next move.

“Alex,” Miles sang. 

“Fookin’ ‘ell, you know I do,” Alex huffed. He wiggled his hips again, as much as Miles would allow, and smiled when he felt Miles grin against his skin.

Miles feasted, and took his time doing so, languishing in the choked moans that came when he sank his incisors against the soft flesh and muscle of Alex’s ass, murmuring his agreement with the groans that were a result of his tongue flickering through sweet, fragrant oil to earth and tang of Alex’s most delicate areas. His fingers held the older lad in place, digging into hips, clutching thighs, pushing up along his spine, and it all served to arouse Alex, and melt him into submission. Panting with excitement, Miles moved to his knees and found the vial of oil, pouring more onto his fingers, and down Alex’s ass. He was in the moment now, one purpose, one desire, and he worked with hands and tongue and lips to open Alex up, and sink a long, skilled finger into the smaller man’s ass. When Alex pushed back against the intrusion, and hummed and sighed and mewled, Miles knew he had him where he wanted him.

Alex was in heaven, pampered and played with, his own cock aching where it was still crammed against the mattress, his skin on fire, his muscles loose, and inviting. Miles felt incredible, that clever finger sweeping up, crooking to graze against him, sliding back, until suddenly it left him completely. Alex clutched the sheets again and whined, but then heard MIles’ throaty request to turn over, hands already moving him. He felt like a lump of dough as he settled onto his back, kneaded and rolled, save for the stiffness between his thighs. 

“Give me your hands, laa,” Miles asked, leaning up towards the head of the bed and reaching a long arm between the wall and the mattress.

“Hmm?” Alex craned his neck, trying to see what Miles was doing, and when the Scouser leaned back, pulling a length of red, silk rope in each hand, Alex felt his heart begin to pound.

“Your hands, laa. D’ya trust me?”

Alex stared up into Miles’ shining eyes, made the color of cognac in the candlelight. He nodded silently and held his hands up to Miles, who proceeded to slip the ropes around the wrists and secure them.

“When you were texting me today, and when you called me tonight, I decided that I wanted this to be about you,” Miles explained as he worked. He sat back and admired his work before he continued. “An’ I know ‘ow much you like to scratch and bite, baby.”

Alex sniffed and pouted, somehow managing to look haughtily unimpressed even with his hands bound. “So your answer is to tie me up?”

Miles shrugged lazily and then reached underneath the pillow next to Alex’s head. “Among other things. I just want ya t’feel, Alexander.” He held up a wide strip of dark cloth. “An’ nothin’ more. Can you do that for me?”

Alex huffed, and shifted on the bed, looking from the blindfold to Miles, and then back to the blindfold. “Whose list we goin’ from, then?”

Miles smiled softly, and shrugged. “Does it matter at this point? I think we’ve established we’re both perverted in some way.” He folded the blindfold over once and met Alex’s gaze. “They say the other senses are more alert when sight is taken away,” Miles ventures, trying for the scientific route of the kink.

“Get me to lose meself in my own head?”

Miles shrugged. “Might be good for you.”

“An if I don’t like it?” Alex asked, already relaxing under Miles’ steady voice.

Miles leaned forward and draped the cloth over Alex’s eyes, fastening it behind the dark head. “Then I’ll stop,” Miles whispered, dropping a kiss to Alex’s lips.

+


	11. Tighten the Blindfold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine.
> 
> So...this is the second part to the Mongolian chapter. I think I covered a few prompts / kinks with this one and still managed to make it sweet. And hot. And dirty. I don't even know what I'm doing with my life anymore.

Alex is a quivering mess of lust, and intrigue. Really, Miles couldn’t be happier with the outcome of the blindfold, and how well Alex took to being deprived his sense of sight. Presently, the older lad is panting, hands wrapped around his bonds, knuckles gone white with the wicked things Miles has done. The Scouser has tasted every inch of Alex, from his toes to his hairline, letting his lips wander over hipbones, as his fingers slid over slick thighs and the coarse, dark hair between them. He had discovered a new hotspot, too, the crease of Alex’s arm where it connected to his body, that little ‘v’ that leads to his armpit, and the sweet salt of his sweat there. He’d concentrated there, of course, delighting in the tightening of Alex’s frame, and the subsequent laxing of it when Miles eased off his ministrations. He’d wait a breath, maybe two, and then start again - collarbones, nipples, throat, chin, flanks, belly, knees; Miles circled the map that was Alex’s body three times over, avoiding the axis of his world, and watching as every dip of his tongue, and every wash of hot breath, only served to make Alex’s cock harder, thicker, and twitch with neglect.

Alex pants in the candlelight, the black of his blindfold covering those darkened windows to his inner workings, his profile sharp, and edged in the flickering gold of the room. Sweat meets the slick, sweet oil, and everything is gilded where it hasn’t been reddened by Miles mouth or hands. Sitting back on his knees, Miles takes the sight in, his hand falling to his own cock, just as frustrated as Alex’s, but now not as neglected. He swallows a moan, but Alex’s head cocks, and his nostrils flare as Miles allows himself half a dozen strokes - anymore, and he’ll surely blow his load. 

Alex bares his teeth, and growls in Miles’ direction.

“Shhh,” Miles replies, placing a steadying hand on Alex’s thigh. “Shhh, I know baby, I know. God, you look so good, you know that? Do you feel good, Alex?”

“Feel like I’m about to come out me skin,” he manages to choke out, before pouting. He pulls on his bonds again, making the muscles of his arms stand out, making his cock bob and sway, and touch the skin below his navel as he lifts his torso from the mattress. “Please, joost…” He breaks off and pants, and collapses back to the bed with a groan, while his lower body twists up and tries to find contact with Miles. “Oh, _god_ , Miles, you’re killin’ me, m’certain.” 

Still, Alex smiles as he confesses his discomfort, and the expression splits his face pleasantly, allowing Miles to breath easily. He’s never sure what the outcome will be when he’s got Alex in these situations, and having not discussed this prior had given him a feeling of excitement mingled with trepidation. He rationalizes this is what makes moments like this so invigorating. On a whim, he leans up over Alex, and avoids touching him everywhere save for his mouth. The kiss is soft, and sweet, lingering for a few seconds to make Alex hum, and tug at the ropes.  
Miles breaks the kiss far too soon for Alex’s liking, and the mattress moves as the Scouser shifts about, and rummages around in the drawer next to the bed once more.

“Got summat else to surprise me wiv?” Alex murmurs, lips still tilted up in a smile.

“Mm hm,” Miles hums affirmatively, sitting back on Alex’s legs.

In this position, their cocks are mere millimeters apart, and Miles takes a second to admire the sight before him. He cups a hand just behind where Alex’s dick curves back proudly, and then settles the heel of his palm on the hot, hard flesh as he pushes his own hips forward, pressing their cocks together. The tips touch, fluid mingles, and Alex gags on his moan as Miles heaves a breathy groan at the feel, and the vision. Rearing up, he angles his cock against Alex’s once more, his hand holding them both firmly, and his thumb slipping through their combined pre come, working steadily against the groove in his cockhead, and then Alex’s. 

“Oh, f-f-fuck, Miles,” Alex sighs, pushing his head back against the pillow. His tongue flickers over his mouth at the wet heat of their cocks touching, and he sneers at the slippery sounds it makes. “Fook, you’re gonna make me come, baby,” he warns, before biting the edge of his tongue.

“We don’t want that yet,” Miles observes, his fingers flitting down to the base of Alex’s cock as he moves his own hips back. It’s as much a reminder to Alex as it is to him - the slow, steady build of Alex’s arousal, and pleasure, as only served to ratchet Miles’ up at the same time. Working quickly, he fastens the leather band he’s procured from the drawer around the base of Alex’s cock, and his balls, pulling everything up into a thick, slick package that leaves Alex breathless and wriggling beneath Miles.

“Jesus christ,” Alex whispers hotly. “What...oh god, what have you...oh, fuck, baby, you know just how to treat me,” he finally settles on, a myriad of thoughts and emotions rippling through him. Miles wasn’t lying, this really is all about Alex, and Alex’s pleasure, but the Northerner can tell from the tremor in Miles’ breath, and the reverent way he handles Alex, that the Scouser is enjoying it just as much.

Tongue held between his teeth, Miles gives an experimental tug to Alex’s cock, and the result is nothing short of beautiful. Alex’s hips raise as Miles strokes up, and the tip of his cock oozes more precome, which Miles wastes no time scooping his thumb through and raising it to his lips. He makes a point to suck the taste away noisily, and Alex whimpers as if on command.

“I’ve got one more surprise for you, would you like to have it?” Miles breathes, sitting back and combing his fingers through Alex’s hair.

Alex groans thickly, pushing into Miles’ touch, opening his mouth when the slender hand comes down to cup his jaw. Turning his head quickly, Alex captures Miles’ thumb between his lips, and he sucks, rolling his tongue over the tip, grazing with his teeth, smiling around the digit when he hears Miles hiss. The Scouser tugs his thumb free and draws it down over Alex’s full bottom lip, then his chin, the middle of his throat and over the Adam’s apple, before tracing his collarbones and settling his palm into the center of Alex’s chest.

“Give it me good, Mi,” Alex breathes, his cheekbones turning a deeper shade of pink. He licks his lips and then holds his breath, every muscle at the ready.

He hears something _clink_ , and then another thing _clunk_ , and then he hears Miles exhale slowly before something splashes against his chest, hot, and thick, and for a split second, he wonders if Miles has come. Then, there’s the prick and sting that comes with being scalded - it’s not blistering, but it’s enough to crack his senses to full attention, bring them round from the lazy haze Miles has sunk them into. The burn is superficial, and gone before he can complain beyond a startled gasp and a bucking of his body. Then, it’s cooling, and his skin pulls tight in the area affected.

“Miles?” he rasps, uncertainty creeping into his voice.

Plush, puckered lips glance off the skin next to the burn, tongue lashing out to wet a swath of skin. The quick burn comes again, landing on the part that Miles has marked, and it goes hot, soft tongue, cool air, searing wax, cold and hard. Alex keens and twists in the silk grasp at his wrists; behind the blindfold his eyes squeeze shut at the exquisite sensation welling in his chest and throbbing through his veins to his leaking cock, and his tears soak the fabric. A hoarse cry shudders from his chest, and he calls out for his lover once more.

“More, baby?” Miles softly asks, watching the display of emotion work its way over Alex’s mouth and jaw. It might be made more tangible if he could see his eyes; the torture of the blindfold goes both ways in this instance, and Miles is seconds away from snatching the cloth away when Alex nods, pulls his bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it on a long, hissing, _“Yes.”_

Miles repeats the process, taking the opposite route he’s gone around before, touching on shoulders and biceps, licking around Alex’s navel before the red wax spatters and cools, creating pretty patterns on pale skin. He scores the narrow hip bones with his teeth, and pours wax again, holding the candle a scant inch closer, making the burn linger, and sending Alex reeling.

There’s another soft _thud_ , and then more rustling, and Alex checks himself, flexing his toes, and trying to calm his shallow, rapid breath. He’s teetering on the edge, his cock leaking steadily with every thump of his heart beat, while sweat beads down from his hairline, and underneath him, in the small of his back, and behind his knees. Miles’ weight disappears from his thighs, and his head spins as he feels those familiar hands push his thighs apart, fingers seeking out that tight passage once more. 

Without warning, Miles fills him, two fingers, scissoring, curling, tugging at the tender, torture-addled nerves until Alex’s throat opens up with a guttural, wanton sound that makes Miles growl in reply. He is quick to find the oil, to slick his cock, to tilt Alex’s hips up, and just as he presses the tip of his cock to Alex’s ass, his other hand tears the blindfold from Alex’s eyes.

Alex gasps, startled, and lurches forward, arms straining against the rope, and he blinks his eyes into focus as Miles steadily fills him to the brim. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Instead he freezes, impaled on Miles’ cock, trussed up in the ropes he’s clutching in his hands, and his legs twined around Miles’ hips. Everything is bright, and hazy, a result of the blindfold and his delicious torture, and it takes Alex a moment to recognize the man above him, the man filling him. When the features make sense - when those hazel eyes drift open, the crooked smile returns to Miles’ lips - Alex lets his breath go, and lets himself go pliant in Miles’ grasp.

“God, yes, Miles,” he gulps, tilting his hips into Miles’ hold. The feeling of being finally full is like slipping into a daydream, and he tingles from head to foot. The bite marks are hot; the places where the wax has cooled are tugging at fine hairs, pinching him, and adding another layer to the confection that Miles has concocted. He becomes transfixed with the sight of his full cock, how hard it is, how thick it is, how it steadily pumps more fluid with each deep and gentle roll of Miles’ hips. The sharp hiss from above brings his gaze back to Miles’, and he doesn’t sway as the younger man stares down in awe at him.

“Oh, babe,” Miles breathes, sliding his palms down Alex’s thighs and bringing the slender legs around so that Alex’s feet are over his shoulders. “You feel amazin;, you know that? I love fucking you, darlin’, love havin’ every inch of you with every inch of me. You’re mine. You’re my love, my everything.” His confession is paired with a different angle, deeper thrusts, and he wraps an arm around Alex’s legs, pinning them to his chest as he rears up on his knees. 

Below him, Alex keens, and nods, sobbing as he lets Miles pull his lower half off of the bed to be cradled on his thighs. Bent in two, Alex can only take it, and he loves it, every push of Miles’ hips, every scrape and bump against that spot so deep inside, every huff of breath, the way he can barely catch his own, and the feel of his heart beating in his cock. 

As if Miles senses the latter, the Scouser reaches between them and fists Alex’s swollen length, twisting and tugging, relishing the heat and snugness of Alex’s body, losing himself in the smooth skin, the tiny gasps for breath, the scent of the oil mixed with Alex’s skin, and the way he’s starting to shake with what Miles is sure will be a blackout orgasm. Leaning over Alex once more, he thrusts deeply, and quickly, pulling Alex up to meet him as his mouth hovers over the Northerner’s. His fingers fumble at the base of Alex’s cock, hooking under the strap and readying to pull it free.

“Come, Alex. Come. Let it go.”

Alex shouts jubilantly, swearing at the ceiling and snagging Miles’ mouth with his own. There’s a sharp tug, and then the pressure is released, and blood - fire, lust, arousal - rushes into Alex’s cock and ignites him. With his mouth muffled against Miles’, he shouts, teeth digging into the Scouser’s lips before his head goes back with a roar, and a howl. Miles rears back, sees the powerful arc of Alex’s climax, and doubles over, pounding into Alex until neither of them know their name, or where they are.

+

“You realize there’s going to be an extra charge for what we’ve done to this bedspread.”

Alex cracks an eye open to glance at a rather amused Miles who is lounging on his side, taking survey of the bedroom.

“Fook the bedspread,” Alex rasps, his body feeling like lead as he lays his head back down. “Lookit what you done to me.” He makes a sweeping gesture to his lean frame that is riddled in bruises and stubble burn, bite marks, candle wax, come, and massage oil.

“My greatest masterpiece,” Miles grins, moving closer to Alex to scrape a fingernail beneath the wax spilled on his chest. “Should peel right-”

“ _Ow_!” Alex shrugs Miles away and puts a hand over the offended area, pouting. “There’s hair there, you know,” he reminds the Scouser in a haughty tone.

Miles snorts. “Since when did a little waxin’ bother you?” He flicked a piece of the stuff, breaking it free, and earning another squeal from Alex.

“Since you’re not a thirty-year old aesthetician named Ingrid.”

Miles scoffed and poked Alex in the ribs for good measure. “You’ve taken worse from me.”

“I don’t know why I still do,” Alex grinned.

Miles gasped, pretending to be insulted, and moved closer, pulling Alex beneath him once more. “That wasn’t exactly the message you were sending ten minutes ago,” he purrs, eyes searching Alex’s face.

“Ten minutes? Jesus, Mi, you fucked me into oblivion, dint you?”  
For his part, the scouser grinned, and dropped a kiss to Alex’s nose. “You do the same to me.”

“Tell me again how I got so lucky?” Alex tilts his chin up for another kiss, and laces his fingers behind Miles’ neck, pulling him closer.

“Hmm. Must’ve been summat to do with that red t shirt years an’ years ago.”

“Oh, yes. What was it that you said? ‘Try it, see if it suits you’?”

Miles nodded, and took another taste from Alex’s lips. “Something like that, yes. And? Was I right?”

“Hmm,” Alex shrugged. “It seems as though red is my colour,” he mused softly, referring to the glow of his skin, and the rawness of his heart. “But you, Miles Kane, are a perfect match, and a perfect fit, for everything I am.”


	12. Knock a Door, Run

He don’t do dancing.

At least that’s what he’s always told himself.

_Hey, Al, wanna check out this club?_

Nah, mate, not my scene.

_Alex, come dancing with us?_

It’s not really my thing.

He’s got a myriad of excuses that all sound the same, but for some reason he can’t come up with one when Miles asks. Then again, Miles has a roundabout way of doing so - coercion is his specialty, putting a twist on a request and making it seem innocent enough. These days, however, Alex is certain there’s very little innocence left when Miles slinks next to him, bends those lean shoulders to an’ fro, gives a little wiggle and asks, 

“Let’s go out for a drink, yeah? It’s been ages since we been out, Al. C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

He adheres to the Scouser’s request, and his belly does a little flip while he dresses in snug, worn denim and that soft, short-sleeved sweatshirt. He’s not looking to impress, but to be comfortable, and he tugs those dingy white sneakers on and ties them, and then runs a hand back through his hair and figures it’s good enough for Miles.

Miles, on the other hand, goes all out, tight white jeans, black v-neck tee, slick St Laurent boots, leather jacket, all of it. There’s a moment of pause when Alex checks to see if Miles is ready, and he can’t help but slip his fingers into Miles’ belt loops and tug the younger man closer. His hand then goes up, cupping the back of Miles’ neck to pull him down into a sudden kiss.

“We can stay here,” Alex whispers, the hand not on Miles’ neck snaking down to palm the crotch of those too-tight white jeans. “Stay here, an’ fuck, yeah?” Once more his mouth presses against Miles in a rough kiss, his tongue flickering out to tangle with Miles’ while his fingers flex around Miles’ length. Pulling back with a groan, Alex rasps, “Baby, we oughta fuck.”

Miles can’t help the shuddering sigh that slips out; Alex has a sound argument. They could just strip off and spend the evening in each other’s company, but they’ve been cooped up in the studio for a spell, and Miles needs to spread his wings. He knows Alex needs to blow off some steam, too, so why not build it up with a few drinks, and some general carousing about?

“God, laa, you know that sounds good. Sounds _really_ good, yeah?” Miles kisses Alex thoroughly and then puts a hand on the older man’s shoulder and abruptly pushes him back. “But you said we’d go out. I wanna go out. I wanna stay in, but I _need_ to go out.”

The Northerner laughs, a rich sound that he dampens behind closed lips so that it’s more of a rough chuckle rolling up his throat, but he can’t contain the smile that accompanies it. He could taste the burst of Miles’ excitement in that kiss. The Liverpudlian is forever dedicated to his craft, but Alex knows better than anyone that you can’t cage Miles Kane.

“I know, babeh,” Alex grins. He heaves a put-on sigh and rakes his hand through his hair once more. “I’ll give into your whims this one time.”

Miles snorts. “That’s what you said the last time.”

Alex nods, ducking his head, and then glances back up at Miles from under his lashes. “You are sort of...irresistible, Miles. Can’t ever say ‘no’ to ya.”

It’s the Scouser’s turn to smile broadly, and then he’s dancing, moving his shoulders and hips and legs, singing something with a moveable beat, clapping his hands. “Let’s go!” He shouts, taking up Alex’s hand. “Let’s go an’ tear it all down, babeh. C’mon. We’ll have some fun.”

+

He _does_ do dancing, in fact.

It takes a few gin and tonic, and soon enough that concoction of juniper berries is running a fluid course through Alex’s limbs, and he finds himself in his own little corner of the dance floor. With his hands over his head he sways his hips one way and then the other, losing himself for a while as the music fills up the spaces the gin hasn’t quite reached yet. It feels good, this sort of letting go, this forgetfulness, and he’s so wrapped up in the rhythm that he doesn’t notice that someone has joined him. There’s a brush of fingertips over his hip and he takes note, and files away the sudden proximity of another body - he can ruminate about it later. He turns, eyes still closed, hands going back through his hair, and he feels another brush over his hip, this one bolder, a thumb stroking up under the hem of his shirt. He grins smoothly and turns towards the source, opening his eyes and looking for Miles.

A pair of _very_ familiar blue eyes stares back.

Alex’s little bubble bursts and suddenly the music is blaring, jagged, confused, just like he feels, and he blinks before blurting out, “Cookie? What are ya-”

Jamie’s mouth goes up in half a smile, and he shakes his head to quell the question. Then, he leans forward, putting his mouth next to Alex’s ear, and he breathes out, “I missed ya.”

On instinct, Alex’s arms loop around Jamie’s neck and he hugs the older man closer, inhaling the familiar cologne, shutting his eyes as he remembers the solid heat of Jamie’s embrace. Jamie’s arms wrap Alex’s torso and squeeze, hauling the smaller man closer.

“Fookin’ ‘ell, Jameh, I...I missed ya, too,” Alex manages to gulp out. His arm tightens around Jamie’s neck, and then suddenly, he remembers Miles and steps back. “Miles-” He turns towards the bar where he left the Scouser, and he sees that the man in question is watching the reunion, a pleased tilt on his thin lips. Alex looks back to Jamie. “Did he...did you two _plan_ this?”

The flush of Jamie’s cheeks deepens, and he scratches the back of his neck as he gives Alex a sheepish look. “Ehhh...sorta...yeah, I mean...yeah,” he sighs, almost resigned. “Couldn’t let Miles have all the fun, now could I?”

Alex’s gaze slides back to Miles, who watches the interaction with Jamie with keen interest. Looking back to Jamie, he can’t help but feel trapped, and wonderfully so, between the two men. “No,” Alex dreamily drawls, drawing a finger down front of Jamie’s shirt and tugging him closer. “No, we don’t want Miles to have all the fun,” he replies, his hips already starting to sway to the beat again. “You gonna dance?”

Jamie licks his lips and glances around nervously. “I’m not-” He’s cut off as Alex jerks him closer, those wicked lips settling next to Jamie’s ear.

“I know you got the moves,” Alex whispers, fitting his fingers into the grooves of Jamie’s hips. Turning, Alex lets his hip dig into Jamie’s groin, and he smirks when Jamie’s hands fall to Alex’s waist, stilling him.

“Careful,” Jamie murmurs with a grin. He bites his lip, and presses against Alex’s backside which is now settled into his pelvis. “Wot you playin’ at, hmm?” One of Jamie’s fingers slips into a belt loop on Alex’s jeans, and his thumb scores across the skin of Alex’s belly where his t shirt rides up.

“Bait an’ switch,” Alex growls, watching Miles leave his post at the bar and weave onto the dance floor. His hand settles over Jamie’s, holding him in place.

“Gonna get you devoured, lad,” Jamie replies, letting Alex’s moves direct his own. He’s seen Miles too, watches the Scouser’s approach, but he doesn’t let go of where he grips Alex - Alex, it seems, won’t let him go if he wanted to.

Alex reaches behind him with his other hand, pulling Jamie closer against him. “Oh, Jamie,” he chuckles breathily, “that’s the idea.”

+

The more they drink, the more they dance, and the blatant desire that’s beginning to bloom is directly proportionate to the heat in the music. At least, Alex _thinks_ it’s the music; that’s what he tells himself, blames it all on that melodic thump and blur, tells himself that’s why he’s caged between Jamie and Miles. There’s so much rubbing and touching and grabbing that he’s not sure what belongs to whom, and there’s a point where he’s kissing one, and groping another, while someone’s hand slips over his pelvis and squeezes, making him moan and force his tongue into the mouth he’s attached to. Then there’s more tequila, more kisses, more rough whiskers scrubbing his neck and jaw, hands seeming to pull him limb from limb, and he finds he likes the idea of being torn in two by Miles and Jamie. He pulls away from the leg he’s grinding against - Jamie’s thigh, by the thickness of it - and reaches behind him for the slim Scouser, hooking his other hand into Jamie’s belt.

Pressing to his toes, he arches back and keeps Jamie’s gaze, while muttering into Miles’ ear, “Want you both. Righ’ now.”

Jamie watches, tongue sliding along his bottom lip. He has an inkling as to what Alex has requested, judging from the sudden flare of Miles’ nostrils and the way those lashes flutter around whiskey eyes. Tucking Alex’s hand into his own, Jamie pulls Alex to standing and looks between him, and Miles. “Let’s go.” 

Jamie doesn’t even wait for a reply, merely pulls Alex behind him, winding through the melee, Miles bringing up the rear. Alex stumbles, laughs loudly as he dips and winds, his feet not quite cooperating after the liquor, but his cock throbbing with every step. God, he wants this - can’t believe the desire that’s coursing through his veins. He doesn’t know where Jamie’s leading him, but he’s got a feeling that they’re not headed to find a car and a nice, safe hotel room.

They cut down the hall to the bathrooms, and Jamie slams the door to the men’s room open, and eyes the bodies standing at the trough. “Out,” he growls, ticking his head to the door. Those that are pissing finish, and zip up before heeding Jamie’s order. Toilets flush, stalls empty, the hand dryer goes dead, and then all that is left in the room is the thump of the music coming from the dancefloor, and the hammering of Alex’s heart.

Miles makes the first move, grabbing Alex’s arm and spinning him to face him, and the smaller man trips a bit and crashes into him. Miles uses the momentum, shuffles back, and lands on the closed lid of a toilet in a stall. Alex hums, the sound gushing with his laughter and enthusiasm as he bends down and steals a wet kiss, and then another, and another, his teeth nibbling and tugging at Miles’ lips as his hands keep Miles’ head steady. When he feels the sudden press of Jamie behind him, he gasps into Miles’ mouth, and then pulls away just as Jamie shoves him forward and slams the door shut on the stall.

The space is small, but electrically charged, and Alex pants as he stares into Miles’ eyes. Those eyes eventually lift to stare at Jamie, who smirks, and begins to unbuckle his belt. Tongue curling around his teeth, Miles takes the back of Alex’s neck in one hand, his own belt with the other, and makes his demands clear.

“Oh-oh-ohhh, Miles, _god_ yes,” Alex moans, his fingers already fumbling with Miles’ fly. His breath hitches as Jamie reaches beneath him and tugs his belt and pants open, and soon enough, three pairs of pants drop to the floor, and underwear gets slung around knees.

There’s barely time for any of them to register a thought before Alex gives Miles’ cock a few rough pumps, and then flutters his tongue around the head, pursing his lips to suck hard. Miles hisses through clenched teeth, throws his head back with a tight, “Fuck, yes, get it,” and Alex moans, his eyes rolling back into his head.

Jamie isn’t idle, his hands snaring Alex’s hips and holding him steady as he lines his own dick up with the cleft of Alex’s ass. He sees the delicate, pink pucker squeeze in anticipation, and Jamie has to suck in a quick breath to steady himself. Pressing his thumb to the opening and rubbing soft circles, he tucks two of his fingers into his mouth and sucks before dragging them down over Alex’s arse. He does it again, and again, until the boy is lathered, and wiggling and whining around the cock in his mouth. When he’s certain he’ll meet little resistance, Jamie twists his middle finger into Alex’s ass, working it in and out a handful of times. 

Alex’s eyes squeeze shut at the intrusion, welcome, but surprising, and, when he’s adjusted, he finds it not nearly enough. Moaning as he wetly pulls off of Miles’ cock, he shoots Jamie a glare back over his shoulder, and pouts. “More, Cookeh.”

Miles hums his agreement and cups Alex’s jaw, pulling him back around. “Yeah, give him more, Jameh. Get him good an’ ready.”

“You want more?” Jamie murmurs, pulling his middle finger back and replacing it with both his middle and ring finger combined. The way Alex’s body readily accepts them makes Jamie moan; the heat is searing his fingers, and the snugness both envelops and pulls Jamie’s fingers along. Alex gags on a groan, and Miles’ cock. “Yeah, lookit tha’,” Jamie utters more to himself. Looking up, he winks at Miles. “Got a greedy arse, don’t he?” His free hand gives a gentle slap to Alex’s asscheek. “C’mon an’ work for it, Alex, baby. Fuck em’ back.” Giving Alex’s ass another rough squeeze, Jamie takes up his cock and strokes in time with his fingers moving in and out of Alex’s ass.

Miles’ cock is a slick mess of spit and precome, Alex’s mouth working him into a froth, pulling back wetly, swollen lips shiny, only to spit onto Miles’ cock and swallow him obediently. He tries to put into perspective all the things happening at that moment: the dull ache in his throat from where he’s wedged Miles’ cock, and the sting in his scalp as Miles tugs his hair is almost overridden by the thickening heat where Jamie touches him, and the flutter in his belly that comes as the blond’s free hand tracks under Alex’s torso, beneath his shirt, to pluck and pinch his aching nipples.

Upping the ante, Jamie tucks his pointer in alongside his other two fingers, grunting at how tight Alex is, his own dick throbbing in his hand and leaking. Looking up the plane of Alex’s back, Jamie’s gaze meets Miles, dazed as it is. The Scouser is flushed, his cheeks hollow as he sucks in a breath at Alex’s talent. Narrow hips wind up, and Miles lifts his ass from where he sits to push more of his cock into Alex’s mouth. Alex shudders, and his arse flexes around Jamie’s fingers, where he’s pushed to the third knuckle, and then he relaxes, and eases back, moving between the two, skewered as he is.

Miles murmurs his praise, drawing Alex’s mouth up and off of him. He shushes Alex’s protest, and pouts at the dismay in those dark eyes. “Hush, laa. You got me slicked up, baby.” Swinging his gaze to Jamie, he winks. “Ease up, Cookie. Want this gorgeous young buck riding me cock.”

“You’re fucking insatiable,” Jamie growls with a smile. Still, he gently pulls his fingers free and helps to turn Alex so that his back is to Miles, and his legs straddle either one of the Scouser’s thighs.

Alex can only watch, panting and shaking with need, as Jamie steadies Miles’ cock with one hand, and takes up Alex’s hip with the other, guiding them both until Miles is breaching Alex’s body. Alex clutches Jamie’s forearms and stares up into Jamie’s eyes. On a whim, the blond leans down and fuses his mouth with Alex’s. Tongue twisting with Jamie’s, Alex makes a sound of pure pleasure and sinks down until Miles is buried balls deep in his ass. 

He whimpers when he comes to a stop, and pulls his mouth wetly from Jamie’s.

Jamie licks his lips and stares at Alex for a moment, transfixed by the moment they just shared. He can’t quite explain it, but he’s elated from it, supercharged, and bites his lip and cocks his head, training his gaze to where Alex and Miles are joined.

“That looks sinful, you two,” Jamie murmurs. “But you’re not quite full enough, Al.” Using his thumb to trace the sharp edge of Alex’s cheekbone, Jamie once more takes himself in hand, strokes, and gives Alex a pointed look.

Alex shudders as Miles chuckles darkly and wraps those long fingers around his hips. Pressing his nose against the side of Alex’s neck, Miles inhales and then sighs. “C’mon, laa,” Miles softly coaxes, reaching until he’s gripping Alex’s cock. “Suck Cookie’s dick. Want to fill you up proper.”

~ _to be continued_ ~


End file.
